The Smulphabet
by POGs
Summary: Exactly how it sounds...an alphabet of smut, starring our very favourite Spooks. Not for the faint hearted. HOT DRINKS WARNING!
1. A is for Art

_Okay, so for anyone who's wondering, the smulphabet is a collaborative fic project by misunderstood beauty, Ros, mollyina, nonsenseandmischief, White Rose Withering and jancis. It's slightly strange and possibly perverted, so if any of that bothers you, look away now. Otherwise, read, enjoy and remember to review!_

_Oh, and after Christmas, we've divided up ownership of Harry, Ruth and their possessions between us, so fingers crossed we all get everything on our lists. But failing that, we own nothing. Looking at this, it's probably just as well.

* * *

_

**A is for art... (mollyina)**

"I didn't know you could draw."

She lowers her pencil and turns to face him.

"I can't, not really."

Harry comes up behind her and wraps his arms around her waist; he knows from experience that trying to argue with her is a waste of time. She tilts her head reflectively at her half-formed sketch before lifting her hand to fill in some of the detail. Her shoulder moves as she shades, stopping every so often to consider her work. Eventually she leans back in his arms and smiles.

"Isn't this a bit Ghost of us?"  
"What?"  
"You know…the bit with the clay, art and romance. Except you're not dead and I'm not Demi Moore and…"

She trails off at the blank look on his face. She knows he's behind the times, but this is shocking even for him.

"It's a romantic classic, Harry."  
He shrugs. "Sorry. Other people's romances don't interest me."  
He gets the reaction he's looking for. Ruth turns to face him.  
"No, I suppose not. Still, you can always learn from them."  
"And what" he breathes "did you learn from this Ghost?"

"Never to launder money through company accounts" she answers seriously, and then, leaning closer. "And of course, that art" she bites her lip, wrapping her arms around his shoulders "is a sensual experience.

One hand strays to the pot of strawberry jam he brought in for breakfast. She dips her index finger in the jar and brings it up, proceeding to press it against his chest and move it to mark a tiny heart.

He takes her sticky fingers to his lips, running his tongue across the tips and then linking his fingers through hers.

"Look" he tells her sternly "at the mess you've made."  
"Come into the kitchen" she replies, slipping out of his arms "and I'll help you clean it up."

He stands for a minute, dazed and ecstatic. At the start of their relationship, he'd never have guessed it was in Ruth's nature to be so – brazen.

Not that's he complaining, mind you.

Harry follows her into the next, noticing three things simultaneously. One, she's sat on the countertop by the sink. Two, she's wearing only one of his old work shirts. And three, she's holding an open jar of peanut butter in her hand, sliding her fingers through it and licking her lips.

Harry walks up to her, pushing her backwards on the countertop, so one leg rests either side of him and her back is to the wall, but manages to refrain from touching her. Instead, he takes the jar from her with one hand and uses the other to undo the top button of the shirt, exposing shoulders and the merest hint of cleavage.

"I thought you didn't want any more mess?" she asks, batting her lashes at him.  
"You mess with me" he answers, raising his fingers "I'll mess with you."

Any reply she might have made is halted when his fingers brush the skin just under her collarbone. She tries to feel what he's drawing, but the agonising slowness of his movements confuses her.

When he finishes, she looks down and smiles at the three upside-down characters. H4R, scrawled graffiti-style on her skin.

"You have terrible handwriting" she notes, and leans over and into him to snatch up a bottle of chocolate sauce. She opens the cap, holds it against his chest and squeezes, watching as it runs down his skin in rivulets, dancing and dribbling and forming patterns of its own accord. Eventually she starts to draw, but he can't make out the forms – a trapezoid shape, some rectangles, circles on top.

"Us?" he asks, and she nods as she continues. She's made herself taller, but they are still recogniseably them, stick-arms joined across his stomach. Her work of art is still trickling down over his skin and onto the waistband of his trousers. He gestures to them.

"These are going to get ruined."  
She quirks a brow. "And how could we possibly avoid that?"  
He gets her meaning and obliges, kicking them off and sending them skidding over the tiled floor before turning back to her with a wolfish grin.  
"You know, that shirt isn't going to do much better."  
"Well, it's an old shirt. It doesn't really matter."

That gets her a dirty look.

"Anyway" he reaches for another button and uses both hands to coax it open, exposing blank canvas. "I might need some more room to draw."

Ruth looks up at the cupboard above her head and back at him.

"Icing. In there. Lots of colours."

She holds her breath as he reaches up and retrieves the box, carefully selecting two tiny tubes, a red and a green, left over from last Christmas.

"Close your eyes" he murmurs. She rolls them first, but obliges.

He starts with the red, making swirls and waves and wild curves before trailing the green down her body, unbuttoning as he goes, and back up. The icing is cold, and she gasps brilliantly every time it touches her skin. He picks up the bottle of chocolate sauce, still resting on the countertop, and uses it to create highlights, defining his masterpiece.

When he moves back to survey his work, she smiles warily.

"Can I open my eyes yet?"

"If you want."

She blinks for a second, readjusting to the light, and the image before her comes into focus. Ruth looks at Harry, who smiles and moves back towards her, placing his hands on her waist.

"A rose for a rose."

"It's beautiful."

"So are you."

And finally, he moves to kiss her. Strong arms wrap themselves around her, claiming ownership, pulling her to him. After a moment, she moans and pulls away, pouting up at him through lidded eyes.

"You're going to ruin my rose."

He kisses her again, pushing his body against hers, smearing both of their artwork into meaningless blotches.

"There. Ruined. Now" he pauses to lick a spot of peanut butter off her shoulder "you said you'd clean me up?"

She reciprocates, darting her tongue out and over the original heart, savouring sugar and strawberries and skin.

"Mmm, I did. Though not just yet. Harry?"

"Ruth?"

"Will you do me another rose? Tomorrow?"

He returns to her lips. She tastes like art.

"I promise, you can have all the roses you want."


	2. B is for Breathless

Chapter deleted


	3. C is for Caressing

_(Thomas Lee Wood and Thomas Grant exist, RIP to Thomas, I took that off the news last night.)_

-

C is for caressing.

-

She's lying with her head in his lap. He's absentmindedly stroking the wisps of brown hair splaying out across his legs. Her eyes are flicking between open and closed as a small smile plays across her lips. Her dainty feet are poking off the edge of the sofa as he tries to focus on the news;

_Thomas Lee Wood, of Skelmersdale, Lancashire, killed Thomas Grant, 19, of Churchdown, Gloucestershire, in an unprovoked attack last May. _

His eyes aren't focused on the television. They're misted over. His hands are subconsciously working their way down towards her temples. They're working in small, relaxing circles over her cheekbones.

It isn't the first time he's done this, and she's certain it won't be the last. He has the unique ability to make her melt into his way of thinking.

She entwines her fingers in his left hand and his right begins to trace gentle pictures over her neck and collarbones. He draws Greek letters, Alpha, Omega and Beta along the top of her pyjama top. His fingers occasionally dip down beneath the lace neckline.

Her head falls further down into his lap, "You OK?" He asks.

"Never better." She smiles, "Don't stop."

"I wasn't planning to."

He gently untwines her fingers and traces the gentle, feminine curve of her hip with his thumb. His index finger is trailing behind his thumb as his other hand sketches Delta just beneath her belly button.

There's something poetic about the physical side of their relationship. They're not teenagers anymore; they didn't jump into bed on their first date. They've paced themselves. They hadn't realised their feelings in 3 years, it felt right to let the psychological aspect roll over before they began anything serious.

He has a subtle manner that she's never seen before. He strips her of more than clothes. He leaves her with nothing but raw, naked emotion.

She can see the smouldering passion flaming within the dark, thoughtful eyes. She can smell herself on him. She can hear his deep, even breaths. She can feel his excitement.


	4. D is for Debriefing

Chapter deleted


	5. E is for Excitment

E: Excitment

E is for Excitement (Jancis - the dirtier version!)

To excite: To arouse.

That's what the dictionary said. She had been searching for a word that really told her what she was feeling. Arousal was far too smutty for her weekly e-mail to her mum, but excite would work. She wrote these e-mails once a week usually filled with the mundane activities that filled her life, but since she had started seeing Harry they had become a lot more interesting, even if she did have to edit what she wrote. Her mum was sure she was falling for him and Ruth didn't take that much convincing. Now her e-mails were filled with the little presents he gave her and the trips he took her on. She was excited by him, and aroused but she couldn't put that, not to her mother. As she read the e-mail back she became "excited" again. It brought back memories of that morning, the morning that had prompted her to write the e-mail.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She had woken up dazed by the amount of light in the room. Surely at six in the morning there couldn't be streams of light coming from the windows. She reached out her arm to the other side of the bed, nothing. That was strange in its self. Harry never woke up before her, let alone got out of bed. She turned over just to check, but he wasn't there, in replacement lay note and a small package.

_Wakey Wakey sleepy head,  
Meet me in the living room at 9.  
Wear this  
x  
_  
She opened the package, and out fell a black blindfold. What the hell was he playing at? He knew she didn't like those kinds of games. She chuckled to her self, remembering the look on his face when she had blatantly refused to be tied up. He enjoyed torture far too much!

But today she decided to play along. It was ten to nine, if he wanted to play dirty she would oblige. If she was honest it was all rather exciting. She dug out the negligee he had bought her for his birthday. Funny that, buying your partner gifts on your birthday, although he had got a lot of pleasure out of it. She slipped out of his old shirt and into the black and red lace. She thanked God it wasn't totally see through. It might be a little embarrassing if the neighbours walked past. Looking at herself in the mirror she became slightly aroused. She looked so good. Not knowing if it was the shape the negligee gave her or just wearing so little that gave her such confidence. As she made her way down stairs the lace brushed against her body, bringing back vivid memories of feeling that before and what she knew this outfit lead to.

Down in the living room there was a chair, and another note.

_Put on the blindfold and sit here  
x  
_  
She sat in darkness and waited. It must have been a few minutes before she heard anything. The front door clicked as it opened. She was overly aroused now, knowing something was going to happen. She could hear him in the kitchen, walking down the hall, the door of the lounge brushing against the carpet. He was about a meter away from her staring, she could feel his eyes on her. That was enough for her, her blood pulsing around her body now. Then his hands on her legs, slowly parting them. God he was being dirty today. His cold fingers made his was up her thighs, sending tingles all through her body, she loved feeling his fingers on her and when they were so cool she felt like melting beneath them. But they didn't stop there, he had made it up the sides of her body now to her neck. With both hands on her cheeks he leant in to her. After a long passionate kiss his hands were back between her legs, still cold against her now hot skin. She moaned as his fingers came so close to her but he drew back before he got too carried away.

"So why did you want me to wear this then?" She breathed huskily, taking the blindfold off, wondering what could be so special.

"Oh, just because you know how excited you get me when I know you cant see what I'm doing, and I booked the day off for both of us" He replied one eyebrow slightly higher than the other.

He was indeed excited, she could see that from the cheeky smile that was spread across his face, and she knew what that face meant too. It was the same face he had made when he gave her the negligee and many times since then too. Taking her hand he led her back up the stairs...

------------------------

Hmm, Ruth thought, she couldn't write that in the e-mail.


	6. F is for Fascination

**F is for Fascination - _By White Rose Withering  
_**  
There had only been a handful of times in his career that Harry had been rendered speechless, and he could count all of them on one hand. He was never short of something to say, be it a quote or just stating the obvious. But when it came to her, words simply failed him.

Angelic, breathtaking, captivating, devastating, elegant, they all paled in comparison.

The bones in her face were delicate, as if her creator had paid every attention to the gentle sweep of her brow, to the turn of her cheek and the bend of her chin. No detail too small had been over looked. And though softer than silk, her skin was pure porcelain. He always thought that she tasted vaguely of vanilla, though whether that was from the scent she wore, he couldn't tell. Whatever it was went hand in hand with everything that made her unique, and utterly Ruth.

Her hair was possibly the richest brown he'd ever seen. It fell around her face like rippling water. He'd often laid there, his fingers gently stroking its chocolate silkiness.

Her finely pouted lips were without a doubt the softest he'd ever kissed, like satin rubbing against his mouth. Their first kiss had been tender, almost awkward. But he could still see the doe eyed expression of bliss on her face whenever he closed his eyes. That thought alone warmed him on the coldest of nights. Now, their kisses became fierce with a passion that only occurred between lovers.

Her eyes, _God those eyes_, were her best feature. A hazy blue, like that of a Husky, that rivalled the sky after a storm in beauty. No artist had ever painted eyes so beautiful, for if those eyes had been painted on canvas he surely would have wept.

Free from the chaos of daily life and lost within a pleasant dream, she looked so peaceful while she slept.

She made a soft sound in the back of her throat, and reached out a hand. Her fingers searched for his warmth. Only if he had been made of stone could he have stopped the smile from turning up the corners of his mouth. He took her hand in his, his thumb traced lazy circles on her palm. Brushing a stray lock of chocolate hair from her temple, he placed a gentle kiss on her supple skin.

Watching her had always been a guilty pleasure for him, even when they hadn't been together. It was at times like these, in the quite of the night when he slept beside her, that he could allow himself to believe that she'd never leave his side, and that she was utterly his.


	7. G is for Games

_I'm not going to try and explain why this is forty-three minutes late and a bit on the terrible side, because it'll take too long and I'll sound like a nutjob. So...my sincerest apologies. That will be all._

**G is for games...(mollyina)**

_The red of her shirt is an attractive contrast to white skin and pink cheeks; as she leans forward the light from the huge glass windows falls across her face and slips under her top. God, she's beautiful; vibrant and alive and utterly desirable._

"Miss Scarlett, in the conservatory, with the lead piping." Harry speaks without taking his eyes off her; he's honestly not sure he could.

Jo smirks knowingly at Zaf, but they don't _really _know: not even close. They can't feel the lazy patterns her foot is tracing on his thigh under the wicker table; they don't know that remark, whilst doing nothing for his game plan, earned him a playful squeeze of the toes and a licking of the lips. They don't know that it's worth everything to have her like this, to make her as happy as she makes him.

"Wrong." Ros mutters, clearly not enjoying the game as much as he was. Her wrist bends awkwardly to show him the conservatory card. "And can we please go inside? It's freezing out here."

Jo peers at her cards before replying."We can't move the board. Mrs Peacock."

Ros stares at the offending board, across at Malcolm's deep blue shirt, and back at Jo. "Sorry, what?"

"Mrs Peacock." Jo states slowly, with the air of an endlessly patient aunt, "What Harry said, the conservatory and the…pipe" She glares as Zaf sniggers involuntarily "…except not Miss Scarlett, Mrs Peacock. I was wondering if Malcolm there maybe, possibly, had a card to show me."

"Sorry, my dear, I'm afraid I don't. Now…" he lays his cards facedown on the table and sweeps up the board in one extravagant gesture, trying and mostly failing to keep the pieces in place. "Someone mentioned continuing the game inside?"

* * *

When Zaf and Ros get into a heated argument over the practicality of murdering someone with a candlestick in an age of modern warfare, he sees their chance. Grabbing her by the wrist, he garbles something about more drinks and pulls her through into the kitchen. 

"Remind me again why this is such a good idea?" he murmurs as she flits about, picking up bottles of wine and searching for a corkscrew.

She shrugs. "We never do anything, all of us together. I just thought it would be nice. And after Ros had vetoed every activity known to man, her majesty left, and the rest of us tried to come up with something she hadn't actually mentioned."

He slips his arms around her.

"How about we do something just the two of us together?"

Ruth sets down the wine and leans back into him, a smile playing over her lips.

"Well, I certainly wouldn't veto that…"

* * *

"Look, how about Monopoly?" Jo tries diplomatically, fifteen minutes later when the argument shows no signs of abating. Sometimes she feels like she's dealing with sulky teenagers, not master spies. 

"But we still don't know who did it!" Zaf protests

"Well, I'm not looking, you look!" Ros retorts

Zaf snaps back at her. "Me? Why me? Malcolm, you look."

Obligingly, he leans forward on his elbows and drops his notepaper on the table. Clearly circled, it reads _Mrs Peacock, revolver, ballroom._

Zaf snatches up the envelope and opens it, and nods his head.

Ros peers inquisitively. "You knew all along? Why didn't you say?"

"Well, winning seemed so terribly important to you."

Jo beams, looking back and forth between them like she's watching tennis. "So, Monopoly then?"

* * *

"So" Ruth murmurs as he lays her down and begins kissing a trail along her neck. "Miss Scarlett, in the bedroom…" 

"Please, no metaphors. You do have a slight tendancy to take them too far."

Her pout breaks into a knowing smile as he moves to kiss her lips. "Fine, then, I'll just have to give it to you straight…"

* * *

Jo blamed herself entirely. She'd thought, in her innocence, that anything was worth finishing with Cluedo, and as usual, it had been her downfall. 

"You're _cheating_!" Ros exclaimed, again, noticing one of Malcolm's hotels had mysteriously migrated from Pall Mall to Mayfair while she'd been distracted with her money.

He shrugged, a twinkle in his eye. "Yes, and you've somehow managed to turn a two thousand pound profit whilst escaping from jail. Besides, I did make every effort to let you win at Cluedo."

Zaf burnt out early; his obsession with big hotels and flash locations costing him dearly. Restless, his mind settled on one of his other passions, namely liqeur, and his memory jerked into gear.

"Weren't Ruth and Harry supposed to be getting us drinks?"

Ros looked up and smirked, much as she had when Jo had insisted on apportioning pieces to the couple, but it was cut short as the younger girl grabbed her wrist and tugged.

"Ros and I'll get them. Zaf, stay here and make sure there's no cheating."

Zaf waits until the two girls are out of the room before speaking.

"I think a bank raid's in order, don't you?"

* * *

She has always been fascinated with his hands. In basic training, they teach you that hands are inconsequential, that you cannot judge a man's worth by their shape and strength, but Harry, as usual, defies their rules. The hands currently skimming down her stomach and just over the curves of her hips are masculine and calloused and warm, and fit him perfectly. 

Ruth remembers before; before she knew how well they fit together, before they were them and he was hers, sitting on the bus and marvelling at how well her hand fit with his, even if only for a second, so perfect that she had to prolong the contact. Now, those hands are everywhere, reaching and exploring in tandem with warm lips. His palms are warm, too, on her cold skin, finally settling around her waist and pulling her ever closer. Now, she doesn't even think of prolonging; time belongs downstairs with board games and bored people, and all that matters is the heady, dizzy rhythym of skin on skin.

* * *

Their exchange in the kitchen is extremely brief. And it's a shame, when Ros was so close to managing not to hate everybody. 

"Malcolm's nice" Jo starts.

"I'm not."

"And clever."

"True."

"And he really likes you."

"So? He can like all he wants."

"That's something, though, isn't it?"

Ros wheels around to face her. "Is it?"

"Well, I just mean…" Jo is rapidly losing her composure in the face of that glare, but she soldiers on regardless. "I just mean, we never get any time off to meet people, and we have to take opportunities where we find them, and beggars can't exactly be choosers, can they?"

She is, blissfully, saved by the bell. The kitchen door shakes as Ros slams it, hard, and Jo's relief is only momentarily clouded by pity for whoever's outside.

* * *

Most high-ranking Spooks preferred to drive their own cars where possible, but Juliet had always liked the pool ones. They were dark, they were sleek, and they were powerful. All qualities, in fact, that she herself possessed. 

Unfortunately, the wheelchair did not. The climb out of the car was almost unbearable; the steps up to Harry's door far worse. All the agony of being reduced to this clumsy, antiquated machine, however, paled in comparison to the horror of having the door swung open to reveal Ros Myers' pale, pointed face staring back at her.

"Look, do you not have goats to sacrifice or something?" The blonde quipped. "I know they're hard to get in inner London, but you really shouldn't let traditions slide…"

Stick to the basics, Juliet tells herself before replying curtly, "I'm here to see Harry."

Ros smirks. "Harry's busy."

"Oh, really?"

She nods, sweeping back the door and gesturing up the stairs. "If you like, you can go and check for yourself, but I wouldn't recommend it."

Juliet weighs her options. She's not really in the mood for a fight.

"I'll wait."

The blonde nods and stalks back towards the kitchen. Juliet follows. As she enters, she notices that there's good wine flowing, and that Section D's latest plaything is stood against the sink, looking thoroughly abashed.

Ros continues her path through the kitchen and out into the garden, pausing only to scoop up a half-full bottle of wine and slam this door even harder than the previous one, drawing a collective wince from Jo and Juliet.

Jo turned to the older woman and smiled.

"I don't suppose you're any good at Poker?"

* * *

Harry dimly registers the click of the door and the sound of voices, but she takes him out of himself somehow, all his usual reserve, constant vigilance, self-awareness and control forgotten. Ruth is too beautiful like this to make room in his head for anything else. 

He moves to kiss her neck and she nudges him further down with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. Her fashion choices have changed since they became an item; his fascination with her skin has neccessitated a change into high necklaces and long hair. He dips his head with a returned smile and starts on the unnamed patch between collarbone and breast. Her head lands against the pillow with a dull thud, eyes wide, hips arching, almost begging.

Almost.

She never quite needs to. He gives up his ceaseless teasing just as she's ready to plead with him, same as always, and his arms tighten around her as he reunites his lips with hers, moving to cover her body with his own.

* * *

The evening from hell, Zaf decides, has now officially moved into the ninth circle. He has no idea what he's done to offend God quite this much, hasn't assasinated any Romans or betrayed any religious idols as far as he can remember, but it must have been something pretty appalling, because here he is. 

Who would have guessed a couple of girls would be so good at Poker, anyway?

Juliet shouldn't have come as a surprise to him – she, like Harry, was a master at all games. And having no soul probably helped when it came to keeping a straight face. But Jo – Jo was his pal, his buddy, a sweet little girl taking baby steps towards every new skill he'd tried to teach her. Except, apparently, she was now his pal who'd hustled poker to pay for college tuition. And Juliet had made some comment about it helping her to be naturally vapid. Zaf had stuck up for her at the time, but his goodwill was rapidly evaporating as goosebumps asserted themselves along his arms and legs.

"Royal Flush" Jo crows, spreading it proudly before her. "Which means…"

Her eyes slide towards him. She's not serious. She cannot possibly be serious.

* * *

"I'm sure she didn't mean it like that." Malcolm whispers, rubbing her arms in a futile attempt to soothe her mounting temper. 

"How else" Ros hisses "How else, _exactly_, do you think she meant it?"

She'd stormed into the garden after Jo's endlessly well-meaning comments, and he'd made rapid apologies and followed, which was probably not the best way to halt the speculation on their relationship, but she seemed to need it.

"Maybe if we told them about us, then…"

Her head snaps up, eyes bright. "Yes. Let's."

Malcolm's eyebrows rescind into his hairline at that. It's an ongoing argument, and one he hadn't expected to win quite so easily. He's about to ask her if she's quite sure when a flash of motion startles him.

Even Ros looks surprised. "What the _hell_ was that?"

Jo appears in the doorway, Juliet behind her, smirks on both their lips. "That" Jo answers "was Zaf losing a bet. Quite horribly. Not that you two would have noticed."

Juliet looks between Ros and Malcolm. Ros raises a sculpted brow, and finally something clicks together in her head.

"You know" Juliet's voice is serpentine "office relationships are looked upon extremely badly in the services. I'm surprised Harry hasn't-"

She stops speaking abruptly when all three of her companions lose it and descend into fits of giggles. Juliet looks round, bewildered, but their lost, no hope, laughing and clutching at each other like they've all gone crazy.

"What do you think" Jo finally chokes out "Harry's been doing for the last hour."

"More specifically" Ros smirks "Who do you think he's been doing for the last hour?"

* * *

Everything goes hazy after they're together. She curls in his arms, dimly aware of raised voices in the garden. 

"We probably shouldn't have done that" she murmurs.

He strokes her hair, her shoulders. "Anyone in the whole service who doesn't know about us by now probably deserves to be fired."

"Still. There's a difference between having them know, and sneaking off on group ventures, isn't there?"

His smile is lazy, amused. "Are board games really a venture as such?"

"I don't know" Ruth answers philosophically. "Maybe not, but they do seem to have made for an awful lot of fun."


	8. H is for Häagen Dazs

_**H is for Haagen Dazs (by Ros)  
**_

She gently tied the silk scarf over his eyes, as he sat on the cold tiled floor next to the open refrigerator. She glanced inside, and reached for the peach slices, tracing one across his parted lips and letting him sensually take it from her.

"That's easy. Peaches" he murmured. The juicy had run down his lips a little and she kissed him tasting the sweet flavour.

"Fine" she murmured, pulling away, and looked inside for something more difficult to guess.

The games they played. Her eyes searched every corner, she didn't shop often for fresh foods. His hand rose higher up her leg, she slapped it away as it grazed her knee. She settled for the whipped cream. She shook the bottle as she kneeled beside him.

"Another easy one" she whispered seductively.

She applied a squirt to her finger and placed it on his lips. He gently took it in his mouth and slowly ran his tongue over it. "Ruth, why not swap for a moment"

"I'm having way too much…" Before she could finish the sentence she was pinned to the floor with Harry millimetres from her face. He removed his blindfold and placed it on her. "Mmmm, forceful Harry" she murmured.

"You weren't playing fair, sharing is good"

"Since when did you start quoting Balamory!"

"Since when did you watch children's TV"

"Yet you seemed to be rather enjoying my selfishness, I think."

He answered by pressing his lips to hers. "Where were we? Ah yes, whipped cream."

Ruth shuddered as the freezer door opened. He delved into the top draw and found a tub of ice cream. "Perfect".

They had run out of food to use in the fridge and Ruth objected to the cabbage Harry had discovered. He smiled as he lifted the lid and scrapped some onto his finger. She shivered as his other hand ran down the side of her face and cupped her cheek. He placed his finger inside her open mouth and the ice cream dripped onto her tongue. "Belgian chocolate, Hagen Dazs; heaven in a tub"

"I thought I was supposed to guess?! Besides I think you'll find the bath tub is far more heavenly"

"Ruth you minx"

"A tad camp Harry" she chastised, smiling.

He climbed up off the floor grabbed her hands and pulled her too him. Surprised, Ruth allowed herself to be picked up. "Harry! Harry! Put me down!" Instead he carried her upstairs to the bathroom.

_(A/N - Insert bathroom smut, you know you want to) _

The next morning Ruth woke up and rolled over to see Harry lying next to her.

She smiled reliving the night's experiences. She daren't begin to imaging the state of the bathroom. He was snoring slightly, she started giggling. She buried her head in the pillows as he began to stir. She felt she would never be able to improve on this.

"Shit"

"Harry?"

"We're late!"

"How late?"

"An hour"

"Ah, oh well, you can't get reprimanded for sleeping with the boss." He tapped her and smiled. Her heart leaped and he leaned in and kissed her.


	9. I is for Ice

Chapter deleted


	10. J is for Jealousy

With much trepidation here it is. R&R and enjoy x

* * *

**J is for Jealousy** by Jancis

It was the mistletoe that started it. Zaf had managed to place it just out side the window of Harry's office. Harry took pleasure in seeing many happy, and some not so happy, pairings enjoying the festivities. He did not however enjoy watching Ruth get caught under there. He had had to endure quiet a few other men kissing her. Granted it was only on the cheek, she would never have let it go further, but he still found it irritating that other people could kiss her.

Harry had monitored who and how many times she was caught under it. So far she had had 14 kisses, mostly from Zaf and Adam, which Harry didn't mind. He knew they knew where he and Ruth stood, and feared more for their jobs than to try it on with her. The other six however, were made up of junior officers who where less subtle and didn't have the contact with either of them to know about their affair. He could understand why they took a shine to her; after all she was amazingly attractive, in both looks and personality. Unfortunately, one junior officer had taken a little more of a shine to her than he liked, it was a wonder though, that no-one had told him of Ruth's attachment.

He shouldn't be jealous but he was. He trusted her, he just didn't trust him.  
The kisses he had tolerated, the office presents he had endured, but now, watching them at the Christmas party, Harry could barely contain his feelings.

She was sat on her desk, legs crossed at her ankles, wearing a suitably sexy dress that Harry had bought her just a week ago when she complained about having nothing to wear. She looked fabulous. He just wanted to hold her, kiss her, dance with her to the sickeningly happy songs that were playing out across the grid. Unfortunately he feared she would push him away at this very moment, his insecurities heightened by his jealousy. He wasn't the one making her eyes sparkle this time, that same junior officer was stood with her probably telling her some juvenile story.

Ruth, knowing Harry was there to take her home, had loosened up a little, drinking far more champagne then she normally would. Her face was flushed and her hair slightly out of place. She looked over at him; he was looking in her direction but not at her. He was glaring at the man she was talking to, there was anger in his eyes that she wouldn't have been able to spot it if she didn't know him like she did. _Was he jealous of this man…this boy?_ He was barely out of university. She smiled to herself. Half for being able to provoke such a reaction in him and half because she knew she would make all his fears go away as soon as they were alone.

Then he saw it, the officers hand dart to her leg. His heart started to race and his face flushed. _Damn it_ he thought. He couldn't do anything that would be unprofessional. If he reacted she would never forgive him, if he didn't he had to stay and watch her be groped by some adolescent. He decided he couldn't stand there and watch her be flirted with. He excused himself and marched off into his office, closing all the blinds as he went.

Ruth watched him as he walked away. She could see the anger in his strides and the reddening of his cheeks. She didn't trust him to not have this boy sent to Israel or some where just as terrifying. She feared the worst when he closed the blinds, Harry only closed the blinds when he was plotting. After a few minutes, she excused herself and made her way quickly over to his office.

"You know green doesn't suit you?" She teased as she opened the door.

"And innocence doesn't suit you" he barked back.

Slightly hurt by his comment, but unperturbed nonetheless, she walked over to him, lightly placing her hand on his cheek.

"You don't have to worry Harry, I'd never go off with him, he couldn't afford me" she joked, alcohol always made her tell terrible jokes.

From the look on his face and the distance he had put between them Harry defiantly didn't find this one funny.

"Sorry I didn't mean that. You know what I'm like after a drink." She flopped down on to the sofa and beckoned for him to join her. He poured two drinks and did as she asked.

"You don't mean it do you?" he asked quietly, she had never seen him look so vulnerable before. She smiled slightly and lifted his chin so she could see his eyes. "You wouldn't trade me in for a younger, fitter model?"

"Of course I don't and no I wouldn't" she kissed him to confirm her statement.

At first she just brushed his lips, and then stayed there a little longer. She pressed her lips against his and opened her mouth slightly. He did the same; they both knew how this little sequence went. Light kiss, open mouths, longer kiss, draw back, kiss again more passionately, deeper and longer. Then one of them would reach for the others shirt buttons or tie. It was Ruth's turn today, she saw how hurt he was by the though of losing her and wanted to show him it wasn't going to happen.

She pulled his tie off in one small movement; she had perfected her technique over the last couple of months. She pushed him so he was lying back on the sofa and climbed on top of him. Kissing him, she un-did each button in record time. Luckily her dress was quiet short and one push at its hem meant it was high enough for it not to rip. His hands were on her bottom, supporting her so she stayed on top of him. Next she managed to free his trouser button, pushing his pants as far down as she could.

"I want you Harry" she whispered in his ear, her breath hot on his neck. He leaned over and bit her ear lobe, she briefly exclaimed at the pain but it soon turned to a moan as he kissed the spot just behind her ear. His hands moved from her bum to her thighs. They were cold on her hot skin, sending little tingles right up her spine. She slowly slipped off his knee so she was knelt in front of him.

She un-tied his shoes, slipped them off then pulled his trousers from his legs, and discarded everything to her side. He was in slight disbelief that he was sitting in his office, half naked with a Christmas Party in full swing just behind the blinds. He was also slightly embarrassed at how his body was showing his ever increasing arousal. He lost his cares as her hands glided up his legs, his eyes closed involuntarily as he felt her mouth, warm around him. His breaths became short and irregular as she performed a pleasure she seldom allowed him. He relished in the movements of her tongue and savoured the feeling of her lips. Lost in the act, he was getting close. Feeling this, Ruth pulled back, hearing him moan in objection as she did. But she was selfish, wanting to enjoy this moment with him, not just facilitate his needs. She stood back up and resumed her position, straddling him. He leant up to kiss her, pressing his lips to hers, snaking his tongue into her mouth, tasting what she did.

"I want you Harry," she whispered just millimetres from his mouth. He pulled her down on to him as she finished the sentence, "now!" she moaned as he entered her.

She started to rock back and forth, slowly grinding her hips into him. He felt so good inside her, she'd waited all day to get him alone. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back. Harry took in the curve of her neck and leaned up to kiss her on it. He sucked and licked it leaving his mark, not caring how she would explain it to every one outside. Thankfully the music was loud enough to cover any noise coming from his office. Ruth was moving faster now, grinding down on to him. She rocked back and forth, he could see the ecstasy flashing across her face as she got closer and he could feel himself pulsating again. The blood pumping round his body echoed in his ears, only broken by Ruth's heavy breathing. She arched up, crying out his name, as he pushed her over the edge, and followed her almost simultaneously.

They separated and tidied themselves before going back to the party, taking the time and pleasure to help each other back into their clothes, just as they had helped each other out of them.

Hand in hand they walked back, Harry couldn't help himself, and throwing a smug smile over his shoulder to the junior officer he had been so jealous over before. He had always known she was his, but had faltered slightly, letting his own insecurities play over what he knew in his heart and mind. He turned back and pulled her into him, covering her soft, silky lips with his, no longer caring who saw them.


	11. K is for Kissing

-

K is for kissing…by Misunderstood Beauty

-

Their lips have collided on frequent occasions. Hers yields to him as his tongue begs entry.

He would draw the Greek alphabet on the roof of her mouth. Each letter perfectly formed, each with its own meaning.

Sometimes it would just be a peck, others it would be a deep, passionate kiss. He has the uncanny ability to make her feel like the only women he's ever kissed like this, she knows that that's a lie.

She knows that as soon as his eyes flicker shut and his voice softens that she's going to get lucky. He's spontaneous in routine. Sometimes before bed, sometimes at lunch, sometimes first thing in the morning.

It always begins with a peck on the tip of her nose. It's almost like code. A kiss on the nose means sex. A peck on the cheek means 'goodnight'. And a singular wet kiss on her lips means 'I love you'.

It's not complicated; it's not even clever. It's just a way of communicating without words. It's a language of touch.

His arms are wrapped possessively around her back as their tongues dance.

He can count every eyelash, every hair in her eyebrow, every speck of eye shadow on her eyelid. He goes slowly, savouring each taste, each moment.

He runs his lips down to her earlobe, giving it a quick nip before moving down to her pulse point. He feels the pulse quicken as his tongue moves up and down it.

Her fingers are clutching to his shirt, her nails writhing in the white cotton as his teeth graze her neck. He feels the muscles tighten as he breaths against the thumping point. Her blood must be flying around at breakneck speed, he thinks.

His tongue moves back north to her ear, its point examining each hole, each crevice. He feels her fingers curl into her hair as she leans against him, his arms supporting her fragile frame.

He's a little scared of breaking her, and he won't admit it.

Her fingers are rubbing the hairs on the back of his neck, making them stand on end. She's dipping her fingers in gold dust. They're becoming worth their weight in gold.

---

He takes her home every night, _just like old times_ never really reaching his lips. But it's there.

Her hand finds the door handle and then his links to her arm, sliding down to her wrist and his fingers curling around it. It hurts, but she's okay. She can feel him. She wants to feel him.

"_Harry_," she breathes. "What—"

But he kisses her, he kisses her as if he were grasping the last of his sanity. Ghosts between the two of them are still many, but it makes them. He pushes hard, just like he always does, and she can't help but react. Her free hand rises and twists in his hair.

She moans and he growls, the vibration brushing against her lips. She's hazy on doing this— she can't remember the last time— but _god_, his hands are sliding underneath her shirt, against her skin, and she can't breathe.

"Upstairs," he manages. The door handle is digging into her hip. "I—"

---

Her fingers curl in his hair and he slams her back against her door, growling (pain is always here) and sliding his right leg between hers. Her hips roll, his tongue is in her mouth, and it's almost like talking.

Almost.

She's not meant to understand any of this.

It's the virtue of a conclusion and maybe, maybe it's all she's meant to have— she's too easily distracted by the fierceness of his kiss and what he so obviously plans to take from her.

She moans, breaking away. Her lips hurt, bruise, and stay wet. "We need to move," she breathes. And then again, the echo of her words sounding like _weneedtomove_ and making better sense.

Her hips still roll and she grinds harder against his leg, the wetness of her arousal too apparent to her.

And maybe this it.

It's like lessons learned thrown hard into her face, but that's okay because it's the euphoria of poison.

"_Here_," he growls against her throat, the vibration of a dangerous promise nearly killing her.

She doesn't know how they get to the floor. But there's a stumble and a rush and a rip, clothes and skin everywhere. He doesn't let her think about scars, turning her so that she's straddling him. There are miles, ghosts, and scraps between them. Like always.

They are everywhere and they are nowhere and possibility is still that strange, funny kind of thing.

His hands burn as his fingers curl around her wrist, tugging her down, and she kisses him first. Because she wants to have a first. Her mouth melts into his, her tongue sliding inside and tasting _every_ inch of him as if this were the first, last, and only time.


	12. L is for Licking

A/N: OK so this is nothing even vaguely smutty compared to K, this was also written in 1 night so this certainly isn't the best thing ever and it certainly isn't close to as smutty as it could have been.

-

L is for licking…By Misunderstood Beauty

-

She's restless, singing nursery rhymes under her breath as she waits. She's waiting.

He only closed the door a few seconds ago and she's already waiting.

Not that she wasn't waiting before.

"Ruth?" It's always a question, as though he's asking permission, he needn't.

"I'm here, how was JIC?" She knows the answer; _crap_

"Crap." She was right. "How was your day?"

"Harry, I work with you."

"I sleep with you, there's bound to be some overlap."

"Harry!" She laughs, she doesn't want to, it's the look on his face. "Say it as it is why don't you?" She's become more sarcastic since she's been with him, more brazen, more adventurous.

"I shall." He steps towards her, and her tongue involuntarily slips out of her mouth and runs around her lip, he's unbelievably sexy when he's like this.

His finger touches her lips after her tongue has resumed its place in her mouth, (not that it's hers anymore, it's more like theirs now). Her lips part slightly as his thumb tries to enter, she nips it gently.

"Did I deserve that?"

"I suppose not."

He lowers his head towards her neck, his tongue escaping the refines of his lips as he reaches her collar. She gasps as it runs across her skin. The 'I love you' he murmurs is muffled against her skin.

"Those words are underrated." She replies as she removes his thumb and sucks each finger individually.

He licks her cheek before shutting her eyes and licking each of her eyelids. His hand is stroking her arm whilst the other occupies itself with her upper thigh. Her hands are busy as well, one's around his back, scrambling for purchase, the other is clutching to the soft cashmere of his velvet-collared coat

He removes his right hand from her arm and begins making short work of the buttons on her blouse, one goes pinging across the hall, "Leave it." He mutters as he lowers his head to the lace of her bra.

---

"It's a witch hunt," she murmurs tiredly, rubbing her eyes. "And you know it."

It's only a matter of time until Mace finds out and then _boom!_ none of them can keep this to themselves anymore. She knows that he wants to hurt them, maim them, damage them by any possible means.

That'll be the end of it.

His eyes close and she doesn't know what he's thinking— that's the thing about Harry, the range of emotions that he has are too illegible sometimes. It's a dangerous unpredictability because, somehow, no one knows his range.

He's thinking about it. And suddenly, her throat starts to dry, her fingers clench and it's just a bad idea—

"Harry." Her voice is soft. She takes a step forward. "Don't."

He shakes his head and she looks away. She can't put up a reasonable fight, she thinks. There's just not enough points, good ones.

"Stop trying."

She looks up. And he shrugs.

"It'll only disappoint you in the end." He turns away. The streak of desperation is nothing new in his eyes. It pulls and tries to drown you— letting you surface, gasp, and only to push you back underneath again.


	13. M is for Massage

**M is for Massage -** **_By White Rose Withering_**

With a forceful tug, the black silk robe slid off her shoulders. It pooled around her waist like a lake of still, dark water, exposing the pale contours of her back to the cool night air and his intense gaze.

Her hand came up and tucked a stray lock of hair back behind her ear. She could feel his eyes roaming her body, taking all of her in. The weight of his gaze told her exactly where his hands wanted to be. Her heart pounded in her chest like a caged animal, the sound of blood rushing through her ears was all she could hear. She couldn't recall the amount of times he had seen her naked yet she still felt as nervous as she had on their first night together.

Her hair fell around her shoulders in waves of chocolate brown. In the soft, orange hue of the candlelight it appeared to have highlights of ebony. He preferred the longer length, finding comfort in winding his fingers through the silky softness.

He brushed her hair away from the nape of her neck, the tips of his fingers lightly grazing her sensitive skin. The touch was feather light, almost not touching at all. But the contact, no matter how brief, brought her breath to her lips in a sigh. He ran his fingers over her pulse and down along the curve of her shoulder, leaving a trail of warmth in his wake.

His fingers travelled the length of her arm and entwined with hers, his thumb drawing lazy circles on her back of her hand. He pressed his lips to her ear, drawing the silken lobe between his teeth. Her usual scent of vanilla filled his nostrils, but the under laying aroma of spice was new. It made her all the more delicious.

He laid a string of open mouthed kisses on the hollow of her throat, his tongue risking a caress of pale porcelain. Between each kiss he whispered words of heated devotion and dark intentions.

He had the most touchable voice she had ever heard. Like satin and rose petals being dragged across bare skin, it sent a shiver down her spine. He could do things with his voice that most men couldn't do with their hands. Oh, but she did love what his hands could do to her.

He touched the small of her back, applying the smallest amount of pressure. Waves of electricity surged through her veins, and she leant into his touch. His kneaded her tender flesh, fingers working out the tension that had settled between her shoulder blades. He lingered on a patch of freckles, tracing the patterns they made on her skin. He dragged his warm hands up her sides, splaying his fingers against her ribs, his thumbs just gently brushing the underside of her breasts.

His hands weren't soft by any means; they had their fair share of imperfections, but nor were they rough. A happy medium. His skin was always warm, even on the coldest on nights, his hands were overly so. Like stepping into a boiling bath, they never failed to take her breath away. His hands had always fascinated her. Long before they were together, she had indulged herself by dreaming about what his hands would feel like buried deep within her hair or cupping her chin. What his hands would feel like against her bare skin…_between her thighs_.

He watched her face closely as his hand started to slowly, ever so slowly, glid over the smooth skin of her stomach. Her eyes fluttered closed with a sweep of graceful lashes, her mouth parting in a placid moan. He captured her lips with his own, brutally and possessive. His name died in her throat with a muffled sigh as he nibbled lightly on her bottom lip.

Placing his powerful hands on her shoulders, he forced her back onto the bed. Her hair spilled over the pillows, chocolate over cream. She opened her eyes, gazing up at him from under lashes of black velvet. Stormy blue met warm honey, and colour seeped into her cheeks. The glimmer within his eyes both sent a thrill of excitement through her as well as fear. Honeyed seduction with just a hint of perversion.


	14. N is for Naughtiness

**N is for Naughtiness - _By White Rose Withering_**

Silk and lace fell across her vision, her long lashes fluttered against the heavy material like dying butterflies as she adjusted to the sudden lack of light. Panic sat in her stomach like a block of cement, cold and hard, as she remembered being terrified of the dark as a child. A gentle touch at the back of her head brought back the memory of what she had agreed to. A small smile turned up the corners of her mouth.

He tied the blindfold with ease; his nimble fingers lingered in the satin warmth of her hair. He leant over her just enough for his cheek to press against hers. His skin was soft, _oh so soft_, and he smelt vaguely of expensive whiskey. She pressed herself against him as firmly as her bounds would let her; she inwardly cursed herself for agreeing to the handcuffs when all she wanted to do was touch him. She satisfied herself, for now, with breathing in his heavenly scent.

The silky tips of her hair tickled his lips as he spoke. "How's that? Not too tight?" The words themselves were harmless, or should have been, he made them sound like a challenge.

At the soft yet firm tones of his voice, she fought to control the tremble that threatened to engulf her body. No one's voice effected her the way his did. His honey dipped drawl could make the most innocent of conversations sound horrific or beautiful, exotic or obscene.

Not trusting her voice, she shook her head gently. The blindfold rubbing against her skin wasn't an unpleasant sensation.

He ran a finger lightly over her lips, tracing their full shape before he lowered his mouth to hers in a tender kiss. It was like satin rubbing against her mouth that tasted uniquely him.

He pulled back from her far enough to view the picture she made. Her hair fanned out across the light coloured pillows, like milk seeping through coffee. Her body lay at an angle that showed off her magnificent curves and the handcuffs held her arms in place above her head.

At last his eyes fell upon her face. As flawless as a china doll's, her skin as smooth. Her lips were plump and half parted, only a hint of the evenings lipstick remained. Absently, he touched his own lips, still tasting the cherry flavoured gloss. He wanted to see her eyes, wanted her to see the desire in his. Oh, but he did love the idea of her being blind to his intentions.

She was the epitome of beautiful, and had never looked so breathtakingly so.

"Harry?" Her voice broke the silence that had filtered through the room. She had never sounded so vulnerable, and he had to admit, a part of him liked it. "You're being too quite. Wh-What are you planning?"

The corners of his mouth quirked upwards into a smile that said he was thinking wicked thoughts. "Oh, you'll see soon enough," he spoke in a dangerous whisper.

This time she couldn't stop herself from trembling.

He reached across her to the bedside table and picked up a canister of whipped cream. Applying a small amount of pressure to the button, he eased some of the dessert onto his finger. He winced at the sudden cold. His eyes fell upon her face, never once straying from her heavily pouted lips.

"Open your mouth…slowly," he told her, eyes half parted.

_How could anyone resist that thick, honey dipped voice?_ She wondered as the corners of her mouth turned up into a smile. "So commanding, so…forceful."

"Isn't that the way you like it?"

A faint blush crept across her cheeks. "Oh yes."

He ran his finger over her bottom lip, smearing it with cream. She closed her mouth around his finger, her tongue swirling over the tip, licking every last drop of liquid from him. She rolled the taste of his skin around in her mouth like a fine wine. Only when she felt a gentle touch on her stomach did she release him.

"You like?"

She swallowed, hard, as she felt his warm hand glide over the creamy skin of her thigh. Her mouth suddenly felt dry and all she could do was nod. She didn't have to see his face to know he was smiling. His fingers traced slow, agonising patterns on her skin that edged higher, and higher, until they brushed the lacy edge of her underwear.

"Good," he purred against her ear. "Because I think you'll enjoy this, a whole lot more."


	15. O is for Oh, God

_Yet again, I take the theme, and take it literally. If you're even vaguely religious, (or if really bad writing offends you) I'd give this one a miss. Seriously. Don't say I didn't warn you. Because I did. Just there. Anyway…_

**O is for Oh, God…(mollyina)**

Harry wasn't exactly sure why they were here.

Actually, he knew exactly why he was here. Ruth had asked, she'd been wearing that little nightdress he liked so much, and he'd said yes without really thinking about it. What he was unsure about was why, of all the things she could have requested at that moment, Ruth had wanted to go to church.

He gave up on trying to concentrate about an hour ago – at least, he thinks it was about an hour, his watch seems to have stopped. Religion, to Harry, has a way of coating everything with a think layer of inertia – he has no problem with it, as such, but he's never had any desire to experience it firsthand. Up until this morning, he'd assumed she felt the same way.

It's only when a freckle-faced choirboy trips over his foot that he realises the sermon is over. Straightening up, he feels her eyes on him.

"Sorry. It's just…church isn't really my thing. Or yours."

Ruth shrugs. "Not really. But…you need something to get you through the day."

"I'm not enough?" and then, off her deadpan stare. "I'm not sure religion is the way to go, love."

She sighs and reclines slightly into his waiting arm, feeling the hard wood at her back.

"I know. I shouldn't have dragged you here. Recently, though…there are so many empty spaces on the Grid." The last part is hushed, secretive. "I hate to think of Danny and Colin and Fiona just disappearing, that's all."

He squeezes her shoulder and puts the other hand on her knee.

"Do you want to light a candle? One for each of them."

Her smile is grateful and she nods, looking radiant.

"Thanks, Harry."

It means more to her than she could ever express that he puts up with her insane notions. If anyone else had asked him to church, they'd probably have been taken out and shot. Now, instead, he's fumbling in his pocket for a box of matches and a 20p for the collection box.

He hands them to her wordlessly; it is silently agreed that she should be the one to do it. She moves quickly, six candles in all. Ruth notices him counting and turns.

"Tom, Zoe, Danny, Fiona, Colin and…Juliet."

His shock is obvious. "Juliet?"

"Well, you know, after the accident, I thought-"

Harry reaches over and extinguishes the last candle with his fingertips, leaving them warm and smudged.

"She's not _dead_, Ruth. She might be off the cross-country running for awhile, but she's still alive and perfectly capable of cutting me down to size."

She nods. "Sorry."

"It's all right."

Ruth gestures towards her first two candles.

"They're not dead, either."

"We still had to say goodbye."

"I used to pray for them" she admits, finally. "I don't believe in this – any of this" her wide gesture takes in the pews, the altar and the lawn outside "but I still prayed for them. Just in case."

Harry smiles, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her down onto the nearest bench.

"Well, you always did like to cover every base."

"Say a prayer with me?"

He gives her a sideways look, trying to make out if she's serious. "I came to church, I sat through the sermon, I helped you light the candles, but a prayer? Isn't that a bit excessive, love? Especially when there are so many things"…his hand trails along her thigh, reminding her of how their Sunday mornings are more usually spent. "that I'd rather be doing."

She giggles, softly. "Harry, we're in a church."

"I didn't mean here. Though, if you wanted to…"

He's joking; he expects shock and faked disapproval. He does not expect a contemplative tilting of the head and a measured response.

"Not in front of the candles. Bit too voyeuristic."

Somehow in her head the candles have become inexplicably linked to the lost souls of her friends; he understands this and feels the need to distract her, fast.

He stands and takes her hands, pulling her against the wall and behind the screen surrounding the expiring candles, hiding them from her view. Ruth wastes no time in initiating a kiss and he returns it hungrily, before she breaks away and starts on his neck, unbuttoning the top of his shirt for better access.

"Oh, god" he moans as she finds a particular favourite spot, and feels her giggle against his skin.  
"I knew I could get you to pray." She grins, and he realises he's been duped. Still, it was a minor point, and it's not like he isn't getting anything from it.

His lips curve upwards as he recites, centimetres from her, hot breath almost tangible against her mouth.

"Dear Lord, for what I am about to receive, may I be truly thankful…"


	16. P is for Pinning

**P is for Pinning and Purring - _By White Rose Withering_**

It was surprisingly cold for an underground car park. His breath became blue swirls in the air. He half expected to see icicles hanging from the ceiling and penguins playing in a snow drift. He smiled and shook his head to rid himself of the image. The grid's attitude towards Christmas was finally getting to him.

Harry made his way through the labyrinth of pillars to where he parked his car, not some 14 hours previous. His car keys held in his hand so they wouldn't rattle. He raised the key fob to unlock the car and stopped. His head fell to one side, his eyebrow raised.

He had to admit, she was the best looking figure head he had ever seen on a car.

She was sprawled across the bonnet, leaning back on her hands. Her feet hovered inches from the floor. Her flowing skirt pooled around her and her button down top was open just enough to reveal the very top of her bra. Fire engine red lace against the cream of her skin. A flush spread across her cheeks. There was a hint of a smile on her lips and a seductive glimmer in her eyes that made his pulse race.

He had to try twice before he found his voice. "What are you doing?" He sounded amused, though there was a darker feeling behind it.

She gave him a shrug that could have meant everything or nothing. "Waiting for you."

He slowly made his way over to her, and stopped not a foot from her. He could see the rise and fall over her chest with every breath, see the swell of her breasts against the thin cloth of her shirt. She was obviously feeling the cold. "And why's that, love?"

"You seemed very tense today. I just though that maybe…maybe you should relax a little."

He laughed; a low and dangerous sound. It wrapped around her like a warm blanket. He bumped his legs against hers until she opened her legs to let him stand in the protective circle of her body. He leant over her, his lips hovering above hers. Close enough that a breath too deep would bring their mouths together.

"What exactly," he said, voice dropping into a seductive whisper to rival hers. "Did you have in mind?"

She brought her mouth to his, a mere brush of lips that became almost bruising. His tongue teased the fullness of her lips until she opened for him. Her arms wrapping around him, drawing him closer.

His hand found its way under the layers of her skirt and touched the satin softness of her tights. The scratchy material tickled his skin. He couldn't help but wonder if the nylon encased the length of her shapely legs or if they were crotchless. He ran his lips over the curve of her cheek and wished for the latter. He was more than taken with the idea of her moaning, writhing beneath him, wearing nothing but crotchless tights.

He smiled against her skin as his fingers left the silken material and fell upon the creamy flesh of her thigh. He moved his hand higher and higher, intending to tease her through the thin material of her underwear, and was met with bare skin.

He pulled away just enough to look at her face, a hint of bemusement on his own. A faint blush spread across her cheeks. She smiled sweetly at him and ran her lips lightly across his. It wasn't often she got to surprise him, and she relished the look in his eyes. Amusement with an undertone of desire.

She reached into her pocket and withdrew a bundle. A lacy roll of cloth that matched her bra in colour. _Her underwear_. Taking her time, she put the garment in his top pocket and arranged it as she would a flower. She leant back, admiring her work and drew him to her.

He nuzzled her neck, his lips lightly grazing the supple skin of her throat as he spoke. "What's got into you Ruth?" Whatever it was, he liked this side of her. Daring and enticing.

"You," she said simply, her nails raking his forearms through his suit jacket. "Or I want you to. Right here…right now." She sounded husky; it raised the hair on the back of his neck.

He purred against the hollow of her throat, a thick sound that dripped down her spin like warm honey. To describe his voice as orgasmic would be an understatement. She could feel it practically coursing through her body, her finger tips tingled with it. She pressed herself firmly against him, letting her hands wander.

He gasped. "Ruth, I-I can't." His voice was hoarse with need.

"You don't want me?" She pouted, running her fingers lightly over his cheek. He had to quash the urge to bite her bottom lip.

"You know I do." He ground his hips against hers to make his point. A small whimper escaped her throat and her eyes fluttered closed. "Just not in this cold, and not on the bonnet of my car. Not when we could be making full use of the reclining leather seats." He told her, eyes sparkling with dark light.

Her mouth went dry and her stomach flipped as she stared into those eyes, just inches from her own.

She slid off the hood of the car and pressed herself against the length of his body. Her lips finding his. Her hand came up between them; fingers closing around his tie. She tugged on it gently and led him around the side of the car, towards the passenger door. With every step she took, she felt her legs start to go from under her in anticipation.

Her blue, blue eyes never once left his warm honey ones.

He backed her up against the car door, his mouth descended upon hers with a fiery passion that stole her breath away. He fumbled for the right key. His hand started to shake as it turned in the lock. She laughed under her breath as his impatience.

He pulled the door open with a look that could have killed the weak hearted and waited for her to settle herself in the seat. He was suddenly very glad that the CCTV cameras had been on the blink in their particular part of the car park. She turned towards him, a _come hither_ look in her eyes, and he felt the last of his control leave him.


	17. Q is for Quietly

**Q is for Quietly - _By White Rose Withering_**

He undressed her slowly, one piece of clothing at a time, enjoying her body as it was unveiled. Candlelight cast shadows across her form, making her look even more heavenly. Goosebumps broke out along her back, though whether it was from the sudden rush of cool air against her skin or his heated fingers as they played over her collar bone, she couldn't tell.

He dragged his hands up her sides in slow, teasing lines. Caressing her skin the only way a lover could. His fingers slid over the cruel lines her bra had made, soothing the discomfort. Her eyes fluttered closed as his hands dipped lower, and lower, until he held her breasts in his gentle grasp. His skin exceptionally hot against her own. He moved lower down the bed, the sheets bunching around them, and took the creamy peeks into his mouth as far as he could. Tongue and teeth swirled over her nipples. A hoarse moan fell from her lips.

His kisses glided over the smooth skin of her stomach, and moved steadily lower. She tasted sweet against his tongue. He rolled his eyes upwards to look at her. Her head thrown back against the pillows, eyes closed as she concentrated on the sensation of his mouth on her skin. He could feel rather than see her breathing, fascinated by the rise and fall of her chest with each shaky breath.

His fingertips slid over her thigh, exploring her flushed and creamy skin. He laid open mouthed kisses over the bend of her hip. She felt his hot breath against her skin, it sent a thrill throughout her body, the tips of her fingers and toes tingled with it. He watched her face closely as his fingers found the way to her satin warmth, burying themselves within her.

She raised her hips off of the mattress, arcing into his touch. She exhaled softly, almost making no sound at all.

Blood coursed through her body, flowing in her ear until it was all she could hear. With each one of his leisurely strokes it became harder, and harder to breath. She clutched at the pillow beneath her head, perfectly rounded nails digging into the soft cotton. As he ran his thumb over her, teasingly, noises fell from her throat too primitive to be called moans. They sounded like gun shots in the near silent room.

He crawled back up her body, her eyes flashing open as his touch left her. He caught her chin and roughly turned her to face him, his thumb resting lightly against the fullness of her lips. She met his gaze of warm, warm honey and nodded in understanding. _Sometimes they didn't need words_. Though the operation was long since over, walls still had ears, Malcolm's bugging equipment was still active and had a habit of picking up even the slightest tremor in the air. Neither of them wanted to entertain the thought of explaining pleasure filled moans on tape.

He brushes his lips over hers, gentle at first. He shifted between her thighs, his length rubbing against her sensitive flesh. She felt the first wave of ecstasy flow through her veins like bubbles in a Champagne glass, and his kiss became almost bruising.


	18. R is for Red

**_R is for Red, by Ros_**

* * *

It didn't take Adam too long to figure out why Ros was smiling. Ruth was looking at Harry's office longingly tapping her pen impatiently on the desk. Harry's meeting with Juliet had been going on for far too long.

Adam stage whispered "A drink at the George says that she has eaten him" Ruth gave him an evil look; it was just too much for Ros who burst out laughing.

"I'll take that bet".

The door opened. "Oh when will you learn Harry?"

"With teachers like you?" Juliet rolled her eyes as she finally she wheeled out of the office. Harry slammed the door.

Ruth looked around, grabbed the file and ran in.

"Fancy another bet?" Adam whispered.

"What was all that about?" Ruth tried her best to keep her tone steady but was failing miserably.

"Oh nothing just the wicked witch of Whitehall having her wicked way with me." He paused at the look of scandal on her face. "I really didn't mean it like that"

He stood up, walked around the desk, turned her to face him, and pushed her so she was sitting on his desk. Ruth could feel his breath on her cheek as he leaned in. "Sorry it took so long and I missed our date, I will make it up to you"

She shuddered at his proximity; she couldn't think with him so close to her.

"Here's the file you asked for" she stuttered, before moving past him, her head down.

Before she could leave he grabbed her arm and pulled her back to him.

"Leaving already, you only just got here?" he said as he kissed her passionately.

"No" was all she managed to gasp in reply as he worked the fingers of one hand through her hair and the other to unbutton her blouse.

---

"I win!"

"Proof?"

"Well feel free to walk in there Adam, because personally I don't really fancy it"

"Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit."

"Yet the highest form of intelligence so shut up" After a few moments of staring she said "You know, desk Spooks are the worst at it."

"I think we should go and disprove that theory right away" Ros whacked him on the head with a file.

"Let's save it for later" She whispered.

"We can't just sit here" Adam moaned.

"Well what exactly do you propose then?"

"You go in!"

"Why me!"

"I can't do active duty yet"

She stared at him.

---

Ruth and Harry were resting on the desk panting. "Well that beats paperwork" Ruth giggled.

"You could say that"

They both looked very dishevelled and lacked clothing.

There was a knock at the door; they both looked at each other and flushed a brilliant shade of red. Ruth quickly threw on her blouse and Harry grabbed his trousers and threw them on before opening the door.

"This better be bloody urgent unless the pair of you want to spend the rest of your days assigned to the Antarctic" he mumbled.

"Brr", the comment earned Adam a well placed elbow in the ribs from Ros.

"This file came through" she managed to say with a straight face.

"And it took both of you to deliver this" Harry questioned.

"It weighs a tonne" Adam answered.

"Is something funny Adam?"

Ruth's blouse was buttoned wrongly, Harry's fly was undone and he had lipstick all over his face.

"No Harry, nothing is funny at all. We will leave you two, erm, to it then I suppose" Ros suggested while backing away.

"That is proof" she whispered in his ear.

---

"You think they noticed Harry?"

"No, Ruth, definitely not" She kissed him.


	19. S is for Shower

Chapter deleted


	20. T is for Tickling

-

T is for tickling...by Misunderstood Beauty

-

She had always been ticklish. Even a scratch on her foot could have a rolling on the floor. He had found that out on the second time they had slept together. She remembers begging him to stop yet not wanting him to.

She remembers squirming and writhing beneath his grasp. She remembers his soft chortle against her lips. She remembers his fingers lightly grazing her stomach as she tried to stem her imminent laughter. She feels colour rush to her cheeks.

A deep crimson. A deadly scarlet.

She's brought back to the present by a chuckle. There's a chuckle, fingers sliding against her throat and then her forehead. It's a motion from way back when, well, she was a little kid and had nightmares— her nightmares used to suck.

---

Harry can't remember the last time a mouth was this warm (Juliet is forever and a time ago) and _wet_. And he growls, his fingers curling tightly in her hair.

He can taste the bottle of red wine when they stumble, the back of her legs hitting the bed and there's a groan from their weight, tangled, on the bed.

Fabric scratches and there's a _shit_, her, as they shift and his teeth sink into her bottom lip. The springs moan (it was him) and she sighs into his mouth. Harry tastes blood, welcomes it, and slides his hand between them, splaying his fingers across her stomach.

_Harry_ she hums against his mouth and they turn— he's not for arguing, top, bottom, and too busy licking the wine from her mouth.

This is talking. With skin.

---

They're too tangled in the morning, sheets twisted around their legs as tires cry in the distance.

Her eyes open and close and she figures that he's happy because the two of them are too lost in memories, past and present, to really do anything about this.

She tries to go back to sleep instead.

That's when she feels his finger on her foot.

She squeals.

---

She's begging him to stop by the time he reaches the back of her knees. Her head is thrown backwards onto the pillow (satin) and he can only just glimpse the pure ecstasy on her face (it's just the tip of the iceberg).

It reminds him of the movies.

He didn't expect her to be just this ticklish. But then she likes to surprise him.

He shuffles higher, her legs parting to make room for him. He begins to move his fingers in rhythmic circles on her thighs (the insides) and the laughter begins again.

"Stop squirming."


	21. U is for Undressing

**_U is for Undressing by nonsenseandmischief_**

A DVD played in the machine, whirring quietly in the background. Ruth seemed engrossed in whatever it was playing, but Harry had given up with it, content just to sit there with her head on his shoulder. Every now and then he would plant soft kisses on the top of her head, her hair brushing against his lips.

The film was finishing and she gave a small sigh. He raised his head from where it rested against her, so he could look at her.

"Now that" she said absent mindedly, grabbing some pop corn from the bowl on her lap "is what I call a happy ending"

He glanced at the screen and saw the two leads kissing passionately in the rain.

"Isn't it all a bit cliché Ruth? Just ending with a kiss as though that is the answer to all their troubles"

"Hmmm," she mused, mostly to herself "I happen to like Four Weddings and a Funeral. Besides, there's nothing better than a good kiss"

He chuckled softly and rolled his eyes a little.

"You're right - as usual" he agreed, planting one delicately next to her eye. She turned and caught his lips with hers, brushing against them lightly but parting them enough to catch the fleeting flicker of his tongue.

"Of course I am", she breathed, as he pulled away, leaving her wanting more.

Slowly, his hands snaked up into her long, soft hair and she moaned with delight as his lips met hers again. This time the kiss was fiery. Intense. His mouth seared on top of hers, and she parted her lips to let the warmth of the kiss spread deeper. Their tongues entwined like mythical creatures; ethereal, heavenly. She murmured a faint objection as he pulled away to brush the hair from her face, but stopped protesting as his eyes met hers. He had that look again. The one that made her stomach flip and her pulse sky rocket. The one that made her sure something incredible was about to happen.

Leaning in closer again, she could feel his breath, hot and steady on her neck. He sucked gently on her pulse point, and playfully nibbled her earlobe and then kissed his way gently down her jaw line. He growled her name, hushed and low as he did so; the movement of his lips and the sound of his voice causing her to tingle all over. Moving slowly and deliberately from their awkward side by side position on the large, plush sofa, Ruth shifted to sit across Harry's lap, cascading the remnants of the popcorn across the floor. He expected her to resume their kiss, to lean nearer so that he could kiss her neck again, but instead she reached slowly for the buttons of his shirt.

For a split second she held his gaze with a knowing stare; the look of a woman who knew what she wanted; and it thrilled him to the core. Hands shaking with anticipation, she fumbled with the buttons, stopping after each one to push more of the material aside and lavish attention on his chest; kissing, licking, nibbling. She was at his midriff now, and her fingers slowly traced a scar which disappeared into the waistband of his trousers. Removing her fingers, she kissed it along its length, and moved her hands to the belt.

"Not yet," he growled, "your turn."

For the third time their eyes met, and still she felt dizzy at the sensation. Standing herself up, she motioned for Harry to follow suit, and within seconds her back was against the wall. His hand brushed over her hips, and around her waist, lifting her top slightly and caressing her soft skin. Wrapping both arms around her, he tugged at the bottom of the camisole, and peeled it slowly from her frame. Ruth shivered at the cold wall on her back, and pushed their rapidly intertwining bodies out into the room again. Tangled legs and arms moved them across the carpet, neither of them really conscious of where they were anymore. The kiss that consumed them was all that they knew; absolute, intense, encompassing. His hands roamed her back, and glided over her curve of her hips. He traced a line gently up and down her spine, only to be interrupted by the black lace and silk of the bra she still had on. Slowly, knowingly, his hands felt the clasp, and she instinctively loosened herself from his grip to let the straps fall from her shoulders. Flesh on flesh of their torsos melted together as they danced their wicked dance. With a thud, Harry's back hit the banister but he didn't seem to notice, instead he spun her round any leaned her onto the stairs.

She was bathed in the dusky street light which shone through the stained glass of the front door, as he bent down to kiss her breasts. His lips felt soft and warm against her delicate, porcelain skin, and her body burned with such a ferocious desire, she wondered that she did not spontaneously combust. Raising her hips, she aimed to free herself from her skirt, but it only served to drive him further in his quest to explore every inch of her. Moving his hands from where they rested - supporting his weight and pinning her to the stairs - he stood, and told her, wordlessly to do the same. In an instant sweaty hands were fumbling with awkward belts and the last of their clothes began to fall to the floor, leaving only underwear remaining.

As she lay her head back to allow him to kiss her neck once more, she glanced over the handrail back into the lounge. It was like some sexual treasure trail, leading from the living room ever closer to the bed - a top here, a shirt there, her bra flung haphazardly over the lampshade, and now, a skirt and trousers on the third step up, twisted together just like their owners - and she knew what her prize would be at the end of it. His hands held her waist firmly, tracing small and sensual patterns with his thumbs as his butterfly kisses trailed down her collar bone.

He could feel the lace beneath his finger tips, the lace of the French knickers which was all that stood between him and her. He tugged gently at the delicate material in an attempt to slide them down her long smooth legs, but her hands took his and stopped him.

"I do believe I've told you more than once" she breathed huskily "the stairs really isn't the most comfortable place for that".

He looked at her knowingly and allowed her to hoist her frame up the last few steps, still arched over backwards and looking him in the eye.

"Too slow" he said, giving a masterful tug on her ankles, sending her cascading into his waiting arms. He scooped her up as she squealed loudly and let out a genuine laugh.

"Put me down" she yelled, the enjoyment in her voice spoiling her attempts at protestation "you'll throw your back out again…and then I'd have to trade you in for a younger model!"

He plonked her down unceremoniously on the second from top step and attempted a look of what she presumed to be offence, failing miserably. "You have 2 seconds to take that back" he warned, the flames of passion raging in his eyes.

"And if I don't?" she asked, walking backwards across the landing, him following her, inches away.

"I'll have to convince you I'm up to the task"

Her back was against the bedroom door and his hands felt behind her for the handle. She placed her hands on his, and moved them back the lace on her hips, opening the door herself "Go on then…we're not on the stairs anymore" she smirked.

_**You know what to do (points to the review button)...please?**_

_**xxx**_


	22. V is for Voyeur

_This is...not really smut (apologies). And it's not like anything I normally write. And I don't know where it came from, but...hope you like anyway._

**V is for Voyeur...(mollyina)**

_He watches her across the Grid, just like he did before_

Sometimes he wonders what it is. Something about her that captivates him. She's brilliant, of course; beautiful and intelligent and extraordinary, but so are a great many of the women that cross his path. And none has ever effected him as this one does, not even close. His fascination with her defies all logic; a man devoid of emotion, devoted to his job, incapable of love, managing a love that defies all, age and words and circumstance.

It doesn't make sense. And Harry, being a rational man, is determined to figure it out.

_

* * *

_

_He watches her at dinner, that same restaurant, under the candlelight_

Maybe it's this. She's discussing the finer points of Italian neo-realism, waving her fork for emphasis and smiling ruefully at her own expense. A meeting of true minds, he thinks. Conversation and company and camaraderie, mutated into something that feels like love. She's the only person he's ever truly himself around; when he talks with her, she listens, and she tries to see the man behind the hard-line speeches and the fumbling romance. Their conversations center around films or books, art sometimes, the World Tour, a whole universe away from anything he might say to anybody else. There's something in that; it's part of it, but not all of it, because she's still just as beautiful when they sit in comfortable silence, as he pours her more wine.

* * *

_He watches her in the car when he should be watching the road_

She's different from him. The same, the way she talks, the way she thinks, but more fragile sometimes. He wants to gather her up and protect her; ride her off into the sunset where she'll be safe and warm. She is, admittedly, not your typical damsel, and he's never denied that she can take care of herself, but he wishes she never had to. She embodies everything he might have been had he chosen a different life, everything he tries to cling onto on a daily basis. When he orders people hurt, killed, deserted, he thinks of her as salvation, a reassurance of what's good in the world.

He shakes himself. Too sentimental. She's not a sculpture, an angel on a pedestal. She is real and alive and blowing her nose next to him, defying his abstractions. It's a complicated puzzle.

* * *

_He watches her watching him, eyes bright, ghost of a smile_

The way she treats him is unlike any way he's used to, a bizarre mix of absolute respect and sweet mischievousness. Nobody else is as sassy, as bold as her, and he can allow it because her words are backed with devotion. They're stuck in a feedback loop of mutual adoration, hopelessly addicted to each other. He's sure some of what he loves about her is how she loves him, how he sees his own feelings mirrored in her eyes. Of course, he loved her even before, even the first time she walked in to his briefing room. Reciprocation is nothing but a magnification, not even close to the source._

* * *

_

_He watches her in the dark, at night when they fall asleep_

It's simple really. It's the way his hand looks on against the alabaster skin of her thigh, it's the way his fingers tingle as they trail up and over the curve of her hip, lingering just too long on too-warm skin. It's the way their bodies fit when he presses against her, back to front, and it's the way her throat tightens as he does so. Strands of her mahogany hair tangle on his face and neck, and he kisses lightly over her shoulder, linking hands on her stomach. It's the way she breathes, rich and rhythmic, as her eyelids flutter shut.

She sleeps. He doesn't. She knows he'll stay up watching until exhaustion forces him to stop. And he knows she'll wake up early and return the favour, like they do every night and day for as long as they've been together. It's just the way they are.


	23. W is for Why?

_**Sorry for the lateness everyone... Thank you to Em for the beta… without her I would be totally stuffed**_

* * *

**W is for Why? by Ros  
**

Harry gazed out of his office window; he had stopped reading the file in front of him several minutes ago. She was busy working, telephone between her shoulder and ear touch typing and reading a file on her desk. She looked amazing today; to him she looked amazing everyday.

"I swear he's been on that page for 5 minutes."

"Don't you have better things to be doing Zaf?" Ros replied sharply.

"He should be dealing with matters of National Security not staring at Ruth."

"And you should be sorting out the plans for the op tomorrow not staring at him staring at Ruth… He has an excuse, what's yours?" She said in a falsely sweet voice, smiling and tilting her head to one side.

"He's doing it again."

"Zaf, don't you have a home to go to? You can't keep precious little Jo waiting." Zaf elbowed Ros.

"That was uncalled for"

"Yet so very true, leave them to it."

"Oh Ros, you old romantic…"

"I wouldn't go that far," She she said while standing up and leading him to the pods.

"You appear to have missed the last bus" Harry whispered, walking up behind her.

"Harry! Don't sneak up on me" She she chided.

"I though you liked surprises" She she gently whacked him on the arm.

"You ready to go home, I could give you a lift" He he said while staring at the floor, she raised her eyebrows at him in response.

"Come on"

They walked out through the pods.

"Harry, you drove past my house" She she said as they pulled up in front of his.

"Sorry," He he smirked, "Looks looks like you'll have to stay here then doesn't it."

"Men" She she muttered while stepping out of the car.

Once through the door of his house, Harry pressed her to the wall. He kissed her as she ran her hands over his back. Bringing her hands to the front, she undid the buttons on his shirt and let it fall off his shoulders to the floor.

As she lay in his arms, asleep on her side of the bed, he brushed her hair out of her face. He closed his eyes and got ready for the inevitable chime if of his alarm. _Why did she make him feel like this?_


	24. X is for X rated

**X is for X-rated...(mollyina)**

"_Oh…oh, oh god, yes…yes…YES!"_

_Passion overtaking them, the two lovers are oblivious to their surroundings, only aware of each other, their hearts beating in tandem, the slide of damp skin on skin, hands locking together and holding. Even after so long together, every time is like the first, fresh and exciting. They're completely immersed in their zelaous kisses and raw energy, a whirlwind of lust spun up between them._

Ruth slid down into the back of her chair, wide eyed and white-knuckled against the armrests. Fate, it seemed, had deemed her undeserving of the nice, quiet, drama-free evening with Harry she'd so desperately wanted. First, a national calamity of epic proportions had caused them to miss their reservations. Then, at their fifth choice of backup restaurant, Jo had called to request Harry's authorative manner and/or Ruth's soothing one to break up a blazing row between Adam and Ros. Once they'd managed to sort that out, they'd had a wonderful dessert and gone for a walk along the river, at which point it had promptly started to rain. Which led to their current position, inside the nearest cinema, seeing the next film that was starting, whatever it was.

"_Oh, god…mmmm…oh, sir, yes sir…"_

_She screams as she goes over the edge, fingernails gripping the edge of the desk for support. A second later, he collapses on top of her, utterly spent, twining his fingers into her hair._

She risked a glance at Harry to see how he was taking it. They sold the wretched film as _art_, not soft porn, and she wouldn't blame him if he was completely appalled. Oddly, though, he didn't look it, just dryly amused, a soft smile playing across his features. Ruth breathed a sigh of relief. If it was over now and he wasn't livid about it, maybe they could just go home and spend the rest of the night curled up with George and the cats.

_The door creaks open. He stumbles up, blindly, almost knocking her to the floor in the process.  
__"Headmistress" he stutters "I…we…we were just, er…"  
__The woman steps into the room, looking from him to the girl and back again before bending to pick up his belt from where it's fallen to the floor.  
__"I can see exactly what you were doing, Mr Harding." She pouts as she advances, cracking the leather against the ground. "It looks like you've been very, very bad indeed…"

* * *

"Well, that was…different."_

He's been trying to engage her in conversation ever since they left the cinema, and has so far failed utterly. She's clearly uncomfortable, and his only remaining option seems to be confronting the problem head on.

"Yes." She says stiffly. "Different."

Harry reaches for her hand. Her fingers hang loosely in his, her skin cold. It's like holding hands with a china doll.

"I don't know why you're so embarrassed about the whole thing. It's not like we're teenagers on a first date. We should be able to watch things we've actually done without getting so awkward."

She snatches her hand away. "I'm not embarrassed. Or awkward."

His smile is affectionate and maybe just a little bit condescending. "Of course you're not, love. And certainly not naïve."

Ruth straightens her shoulders. "You don't believe me?"

He opens his mouth and closes it again, clearly at a loss. Eyes alight, she turns and before he can regain his wits, she's blown him a kiss and hailed a taxi. He marvels briefly at how they always seem to stop for her, and watches as it pulls away, leaving him alone and stranded.

* * *

**One week later**

Harry sighed as he let himself in. In the days since their minor row, Ruth had stopped responding to his e-mails, been curt with him at work, and adamantly refused any suggestion of social engagement. He didn't really believe he'd lost her over something so trivial, but he did wish she'd stop being so bloody difficult. At this point, he was perfectly willing to give in to her and swear blind, with a completely straight face, that she hadn't been the slightest bit embarrassed and it was all in his head, if only she'd talk to him properly again.

His thoughts halted as he noticed a letter on the coffee table. Her writing.

_In the study. I'm not naïve._

Loosening his tie, he made straight for the study at the back of the house. Opening the door, he drew in a sharp breath. Ruth was perched on the edge of his desk, dressed in a white blouse several sizes too small and what appeared to be the world's shortest skirt.

"What's this?" He murmured, trying desperately to hold eye contact.

She shrugged, drawing up her cleavage and making it even harder for him to focus on her words. "I was going to use your desk at work, but I thought the CCTV might be a bit of a turn-off. You see, I have a point to prove. And I thought this might be a fun way of doing it. Sir."

He moved towards her, remembered images flashing through his mind. Ruth spread her hands, sending his perfectly ordered stationary flying, and leaned back as he kissed her, hard and uncompromising. Her fingers flew to his belt, unbuckling it and flinging it aside. As it hit the wall with a thwack and fell to the floor, a sudden disturbing thought entered his head.

"Please tell me you haven't got Juliet lined up to come in halfway through and start lashing that around?"

That raises an impish grin. "I didn't follow the film _exactly_, Harry. That's really quite disturbing and besides, I don't think I'm that limber anyway."

He raised an eyebrow. "Well, we'll just see about that…"


	25. Y is for Yesterday

_**Sorry for the lateness everyone...Thank you to Em for the beta… without her I would be totally stuffed!**_

* * *

**Y is for Yesterday by Ros**

She had yelled, she hadn't meant any of the things she had said. She couldn't even remember exactly what she said, just the sound of the door slamming and the feel of the cold, lonely bed.

Staring out the window, she could almost imagine him standing there. She gazed into space for what seemed like hours.

He had never been a fan of running; he preferred to stay and confront conflicts, not walk out of the door. He stared at the mirror, seeing right through it. His hands on either side of the sink he wondered what she was doing; normally on a Sunday morning she would be laying on the floor reading newspapers, tutting at the rubbish journalists wrote and passed off as news. "Normally?" Hhe wondered at what point he had become so domesticated, used to her company. Finally he smiled.

_1 hour later_

Ruth's doorbell rang. Still wearing her dressing gown, she lifted fidget Fidget off her lap and meandered over from the front room, yawning as she went. She hoped Harry would be at the other side; as her fingers gripped the handle she paused, as if that would make Harry materialise on the other side.

"Ruth?" Her heart skipped a beat, his voice sensuous with a roughness that sanded her defences away leaving her exposed. "Are you there?" Gathering her composure she opened the door.

"Come in" Ruth murmured, before turning away from him to hide her delight that he had come back. Harry followed, confused. She stopped abruptly and turned, he crashed straight into her. "Sorry Ruth"

"No, it was my fault. So was the other thing, sorry, I didn't mean it, you didn't deserve it, I shouldn't have said it, it was wrong and unfair."

"We are equally to blame" Harry said while closing the distance between them.

"No Harry-"

"Can we agree to disagree?" He said while smiling. He cupped her cheek with his hand and kissed her lips softly. They melted into each other. Any counter arguments Ruth had vanished.

She reminded herself never to try to have a debate with Harry as they stumbled up the stairs.


	26. Z is for Zest

**Well, it's all over now:(, Hope you enjoyed it, even if we are shit at keeping to our deadlines.**

-

Z is for Zest….by Misunderstood Beauty

-

"I can remember the first time I took you home." He whispers in her ear, "The first time something actually happened, something worth taking note of."

"Yes, well, it's a little hard to forget."

_Three shots of Fireball whiskey, horrible, cheap, cinnamon-tasting stuff that burned down a person's throat like swallowing bleach. _

Two pints of beer, chugged with Adam and Zaf respectively (Adam demolished her, but Zaf was evidently a pansy and couldn't keep up).

And more than her fair share of a bottle of champagne, opened in her honor.

All in reverse order.

So it was a safe bet to say that Ruth had had way too much to drink for someone her size and had moved from the 'buzzing' stage to full-on drunk, especially after that last shot of Fireball whiskey. The bartender wasn't the first to notice, but he was the grumpiest about it, insisting that she'd reached her cutoff point and needed to go home.

Unfortunate, Harry thought, but probably true. She was definitely stumbling, although that could have been the fault of the heels she was wearing. Yeah, he'd noticed. When she'd shown up in that top and that obscene skirt he'd figured her feet were probably the best thing to be focusing on, because his eyes sure as hell wouldn't stay on her face. He was almost happy to be proved wrong.

At any rate, he was ready to leave, too. His knee was starting to complain and frankly this bar was about ten years too young for him.

What was the rule again? Divide by two, add… what, eight? Nine? He was pretty sure it was bad news for Ruth either way.

Harry caught her arm as she tripped over her ridiculous shoes again on the way to the door. "I'm going to head home, too," he told Adam, who nodded somewhat sloppily. "Don't forget to go home to your wife."

Judging by the physical cringe on both Zaf and Jo's faces, that really hadn't been part of the plan. Interesting. Mildly disturbing. Not something he was going to think about. "You know, it's a bad situation when you need a 50 year olds help to walk properly."

"Be quiet or I'll take your tie instead." Ruth straightened a little when the cold night air hit them, then swayed as soon as the temporary rush left her. "It's your fault, anyway. Shouldn't have bought me that last shot."

Harry hailed a taxi, vaguely amused. "Right, because it was the last shot, and not the two before it, or the beer, or the champagne that got you drunk." Ruth slid into the car (okay, maybe she stumbled a little) and Harry climbed laboriously in after her. "Besides, everyone knows you're not supposed to drink beer before hard liquor." Especially when you weigh...8 and a half stone.

That was how this whole fiasco had started. He'd got fed up with not having anyone around that was, well, Ruth, and once Mace was gone Juliet had told him to hurry up and go find someone. Zaf told him to stop being an ass and go find Ruth, which was unhelpful since he'd already done that once, and when he'd finally given in she'd insisted on a date.

It had been okay, really, but awkward. He'd made it that way on purpose. But the next night to celebrate her return to the job the five of them had gone out for drinks and…

He snapped out of it long enough to give the cab driver Ruth's address, then leaned his head back against the tacky black vinyl upholstery.

"Do I feel warm to you?"

Harry just about bit through his tongue trying not to make a comment about that. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye; she was leaning against the door, facing him, head against the glass. The awkward position drew his attention to the deep 'v' of her halter-top. When the car passed a street light, he swore he could see a small rivulet of sweat drip down between her breasts.

Ruth moved languidly, sliding across the seat and grabbing his hand, pressing it to her forehead. Forget about warm, the girl was hot. "You're fine. It's just the alcohol."

Swallowing hard and valiantly trying to tear his eyes off of her cleavage, Harry made to pull his hand away. Unfortunately, just then the driver turned a corner, and he ended up with a generous handful of satin from trying to keep Ruth from falling on him. She managed to land directly between his legs, head on his shoulder, and shit, if he hadn't been rock hard in the club watching her grind on the dance floor, he definitely was now.

At first he thought she was just going to flush awkwardly and move off of him, embarrassed. But she stopped with one leg over his left and knelt, dragging her tongue along his neck. Harry knew he was in trouble when she slid her knee against his groin, rubbing him lightly through his jeans. "You seem a little warm, Harry." He couldn't fight the low moan that escaped when she licked her way up to his ear. "And I'm pretty sure you haven't been drinking."

He would have given quite a lot for a good glass of scotch right about then. This was a situation he wasn't sure how to get into or out of, and he didn't even know which one he wanted. "I think this is a bad idea."

"Really?" One of Ruth's hands moved down his chest and hovered over his erection. She squeezed gently. "I think you're lying."

He couldn't fight the instinct to press up into her hand, closing his eyes as Ruth bit his shoulder through his shirt. "I'm your boss."

Against his chest, he felt her grin. "Not tonight." She sat heavily on his leg, settling for just long enough so that he got a good idea of who was in charge: even through his trousers he could feel how hot and wet she was. When she ground herself back and forth he realized with a groan that she was wearing a g-string under her skirt.

"You're drunk," Harry said helplessly, still not even trying to peel her off him. Her hands were making quick work of his belt.

In response, she grabbed his hand again and brought it between her legs. "I know what I'm doing."

He couldn't argue with that. She had a smooth creamy thigh, the thin, silky material and damp heat, was perfection in his palm. Then his fingers brushed against her core and they both breathed in sharply, Harry immediately seeking her wetness and Ruth bucking hard against his fingers. She managed to work the button of his fly open and had just reached the zipper when the cab driver glanced in his mirror.

"Hey! What's going on back there?"

Oops. This would be a really good excuse to stop her, but he really, really didn't want to, not when both hands had just closed around him. Instead he managed to reach his wallet and handed the guy a fifty. "Turn the music up and keep driving."

He returned his attention to Ruth just as she slid from the seat, positioning herself over his lap. "You've been hard all night, haven't you?" she whispered, fingers leaving a blazing trail on his erection. "I was watching. And I know you were watching me."

Just one hand now, and it was probably seven different kinds of sin to watch her do this but he couldn't look away.

_  
"That skirt," he said, trying to keep his voice from cracking, threading his fingers through her hair. "Those bloody shoes. You were asking for it." _

He could feel her low chuckle against his neck as she moved closer, tongue flicking out to caress the pulse point. "Who's asking for it now?"

"Begging," he gasped as she took sucked on his earlobe. "The word is definitely 'begging.'"

"Mmm. You needn't have done." Ruth hummed in agreement. The vibrations sent shockwaves coursing through his system, electrifying his nerve endings.

_  
"Thank you I realize that" didn't really seem appropriate. "See you Monday" was a little trite. _

Too soon, the driver pulled over and stopped, and before Harry had a chance to say anything, before he even had a chance to wonder how the hell she'd got out of the car so fast, and over his lap without causing immeasurable pain, she was gone. Well. Harry gave the driver his address. At the very least, it promised to be a very interesting workweek.

"Yes." He agrees, "certainly not something to forget in a hurry."


	27. A is for Ann Summers

_**Oh yes, people, it's back!**_

_**This time we have lost some people and gained others, but each chapter will include who has written it.  
**_

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_**A is for Ann Summers - Fidget/Jcmac22 **_

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Tapping out a rhythm on the side of his desk, Harry sighed. It was far too quite; he didn't like days like this where the only thing to do was paperwork. Looking up, he smiled as Ruth walked into the room. 

"Hi. What can do for you?"

She smiled sat on the edge of the desk. "Tell me what you are buying me for my birthday."

He panicked slightly, having completely forgotten, but covered it with a mock glare. "That would be telling wouldn't it?"

"Harry." She stretched his name out and pouted at him. "Please."

"No." He stood up and places a small kiss on her nose. "Go back to work you're distracting me." She narrowed her eyes at him and turned to leave; grabbing her arm he pulled her back and kissed her deeply leaving her breathless. "Love you."

Blinking, she smiled. "I love you too."

Watching her leave, he bit his lip and sat down switching on his computer.

_What do you buy a woman like Ruth? _ He sighed and tried to think of any hints she had dropped over the last few weeks. _Chocolates? _He shook his head. She needed something special, something practical. He smiled reaching for his keyboard he found the website he wanted and started to look through it. He quickly looked up to make sure no one was heading toward his office as he clicked on the page marked 'hottest'. He licked his lips, his mouth suddenly very dry as he scanned the images in front of him. Ruth would look amazing in all of them; if he had enough money he would buy her the lot. Well, maybe not the 'Diamante Nipple Tassles' - not really Ruth.

He jumped at the sound of his door opening.

"Harry. I need you to sign this for me." He looked up at Jo, who was trying to sneak a look at the computer.

"What's that?"

"Nothing Joanna." He held his hand out for the files and signed them. "Anything else?"

She smiled. "No. Do you know her..."

He cut her off by standing up. "Out, now!" Jo gave him a knowing smile and a wink before turning on her heel and leaving. Shaking his head, Harry sat back down and turned his attention back to the screen.

Clicking on the image to enlarge it, he tilted his head slightly as he imagined Ruth stood before him in the _Lady V Chemise & String Set. _He shuddered as he imagined how wonderful her legs would feel and look in the fishnet tights. He jumped again at the sound of someone clearing his or her throat.

Looking up, he saw Ros smirking at him. "Something interesting there, Harry? Does Ruth know what you are getting up to in here?"

Taking a deep breath, he smiled at her. "What can I do for you Ms. Myers?"

She leaned forward, trying to take a look at the screen. "I need clearance to view some files."

Switching the screen off, he held out his hand. "Fine, can Adam not give you it?"

"He's busy."

"So am I." He signed the papers and handed them back to her. "Anything else?" She shook her head, grinned at him and left.

Turning the screen back on he, leaned back and started to read the description. _The woman who wears this doesn't compromise. She demands the best, she gets the best.__Unfailingly glamorous, effortlessly sexy,_ he smiled; that was definitely Ruth! Far too sexy for her own good, even if she didn't't believe it. _Her talents extend from the slopes of Val d'Isère to the catwalks of Milan to between her silk sheets._ He bit down on his lip to stop himself moaning at the image of Ruth tangled up in silk sheets. _With matching string, detachable suspenders, underwired and padded cups and sheer polka skirt grazing her expectant thighs, this rear-fastening chemise sculpts her silhouette beautifully. _He shifted in his chair and pulled at his suddenly tight trousers, unsure if he would cope with Ruth wearing it for real. _So many men, so few who can afford her. _He could; she had always said that no one else came close to owning her like he did. Licking his lips, he briefly closed his eyes, willing his mind and erection to calm down.

He froze, feeling a pair of eyes on him. Slowly, he turned around, hoping to find Ruth standing there wearing that cute smile she wore when she caught him daydreaming about her. He cringed when he opened his eyes to find Malcolm stood there with his mouth open.

"Malcolm?" The taller man's mouth opened but nothing came out; he couldn't't tear his eyes away from the image Harry had been looking at. "Malcolm? Are you ok." Harry reached over and turned off the computer.

Shaking his head, Malcolm focused his gaze on Harry. "Er… yes… sorry. For Ruth? Sorry, silly question. I…erm…," he pointed to the door, "have to do something." He turned and stopped dead as Ruth walked into the room. He couldn't help himself as his eyes drifted over her body, his mind conjuring up images of Ruth wearing the outfit Harry had been looking at. "Ruth… Hi… erm… yes." He looked between Harry and Ruth before sighing and leaving the room.

Watching him go, Ruth turned to Harry and raised her eyebrows at him. "What was that all about?"

"You really don't want to know, sweetheart. Come here." He held out his hand to her and gave her a small smile.

"You are keeping a lot of secrets from me today, Harry." She sat down on his lap and briefly brushed her lips over his.

"Everything will become clear in a week."

She beamed at him. "Oh my birthday, does Malcolm know what you've got me?"

"Yes, but he won't tell you, so leave him alone." He buried his face in her neck to hide his smile. "Shall we go out for dinner?"

She slid off his knee and turned to face him, resting her hands on the arms of his chair and leaning forward to give him a generous view of her cleavage. "That's a very good idea; I'll get my coat." She kissed him and walked out of the room.

He watched her go smiling before turning back to the computer and quickly ordering the outfit.


	28. B is for Bedknobs and Blindfolds

Chapter deleted


	29. C if for Cherries

**Thank you Kate.**

**C is for Cherries Fidget/Jcmac **

Leaning over to the bowl of cherries on the coffee table she took out a handful resting them on her stomach, slowly she started to eat them one by one returning her attention to the screen still unaware of his eyes on her. She tentatively dangled the first of the soft red fruit from its stalk and sucked it into her mouth; her tongue traced it before she took a bite pulling what was left slowly from her lips. He shifted in his seat as he felt a familiar heat running through his body and he was suddenly grateful for the book resting on his lap covering growing arousal. She continued her torture one small ripe fruit after another, until he couldn't take it a moment longer

"Stop it." His voice cracked with arousal, she looked up at him raising an eyebrow.

"You know what you're doing Ruth."

She sent him an innocent smile before placing the stalks and stone in the small bin beside her. Stretching out, her back arched exposing her pale stomach. Narrowing his eyes he glared at her ignoring the cheeky glint in her eyes. She knew what she was doing, how his body reacted to hers.

Standing up Harry quietly made his way to the kitchen. He'd taken the bowl of cherries from the table hours before, partly to spare himself further torture and partly because they were interracial to what he had planned. Lifting them and running his hand over the top to check their temperature he smiled. Ice cold. Perfect. Smiling he made his way toward the living room where he knew she was sprawled on the couch reading Frankenstein. He knew she'd be engrossed, she always was, no matter how many times she read it.

She was so lost in what she was reading she barely heard him re-enter the room and he smiled to himself placing the bowl on the end table out of sight as he sat on the couch next to her. She'd showered and was languishing in a soft towelling robe that he knew covered nothing but her nudity, she knew what he'd want that evening and she'd have made sure she was wearing nothing to impede him getting to it. He rested her feet on his lap pretending to be interested in the news broadcast on the TV and slowly began to trace soft circles with his hands on her ankles. He felt her relax against his touch as she laid further back, not taking her eyes from what she was reading but sighing contentedly. When he was sure she was relaxed he began to snake his hand further up her leg. When it crossed the line between her knee and her thigh he heard her gently lower the book.

"Ten minutes darling" she said smiling at him "just let me finish this bit and I promise I'm all yours"

He nodded at her feeling a certain amount of satisfaction that she'd not realised his plan. The events of the afternoon were a distant memory to her now. Teasing him to the point where he could barely control his need to pin her against the nearest wall and remind her how well they fitted together was a hobby of hers, one he planned to put an end to. He loved her and he wanted her but he was just a little fed up with having to hide the bulge in his trousers when she decided to play with him. She was indiscriminate. It didn't matter if they were at work, at dinner with friends or even just shopping for groceries if the mood took her she'd have him rock hard and unable to do anything about it in seconds. He'd thought that she'd learnt her lesson when, a couple weeks before, she'd gotten him so wound up on the Grid that he'd pulled her out of a meeting, into his office and taken her up against his door with everyone not 3 feet away in the meeting room. Apparently however she hadn't so now it was time for some serious teaching. Waiting until she was relaxed again he slid his hand into the bowl beside him. Palming one of the icy fruits he inched closer to her so that her knees were bent over his lap, giving him perfect access to the area he wanted to attack. With cat like precision he snaked his hand under the soft material and finding his target tapped the cool red roundness of the fruit against her clit before gently pressing it against her entrance.

Ruth's eyes shot immediately up from the book in her hand her mind registering 3 distinct facts. One the sensation now nudging at her growing arousal was freezing, two it was not finger shaped nor, given the position of her legs and his mouth, was it anything else she would expect to be there and finally that she was in very serious trouble.

"Harry what…." she began but her words were stopped as he continued to dip in and out of her with the unidentified object whilst his finger found her clit, rubbing soft agonising circles around it. She lifted her leg laying it lazily over the back of the couch to give him better access as she felt him hover over her his lips coming close to her ear.

"Two can play at teasing Ruth" he breathed as she felt herself slip closer and closer to orgasm.

"Don't stop…." she heard herself murmur in a barely audible whisper.

Harry felt the rush of a plan well thought out as he listened to her soft moans and pleas to continue. He waited a few seconds more until he knew one more movement would send her over the edge, and then he pulled the soft fruit away from her and removed his fingers. He heard her gasp, waited a beat while she realised that his fingers weren't getting replaced by anything else then smiled sweetly at her as she glared at him through lust laden eyes. He playfully dangled the cherry between his fingers licking her juices off it before popping it into his mouth.

"You Ba…." she began her face taking on a look of mock scorn before he stopped her.

"Now now darling don't say anything you'll regret" he said smiling sweetly, throwing the stalk and stone of the cherry into the trash in an exact mirror of the action she'd carried out earlier in the day. Watching as the perfect specimen of womanhood lying before him, reached for him pulling him closer it took all the strength he had not to just capture her lips there and then and never look back but he resisted. Instead he rested his hand on her chest stopping her progress.

"No more teasing when I'm not able to have you?" he questioned.

"No more" she promised as his lips met hers and he forgot what it was he was teaching her to begin with.

Ruth for her part relaxed once again to his attentions and as he finally gave her release her final thought was "No more teasing……. Until the next time."


	30. D is for ?

_THIS IS A PLACEHOLDER CHAPTER UNTIL 'D' (AND IT'S AUTHOR) ARE READY._

_BUT PLEASE PROCEED TO 'E'..._


	31. E is for Entertainment

_(With thanks to __**White Rose Withering**__ for her support; and apologies to Alan J Lerner and Frederick Loewe - it's Harry's prejudice, not mine. Personally, I love _Camelot.

E is for Entertainment (by Laurie)

'You know, Harry, there are easier ways of going about this.'

'Hmm. But possibly not as much fun.'

'You have a very strange concept of what "fun" is.'

'Is that a complaint?'

'No, no. More of an observation.'

It had started as a power-cut, which was now entering its forth hour. The bathroom lights had flickered ominously before fading completely with a sound like a sigh. In the pitch black she had fumbled with the lock before making it out of the door and promptly tripping over a cat. Harry had groped his way up the stairs, sworn at the offending feline and, having located Ruth tangled in her dressing-gown on the floor, given her a hand up.

'I don't actually need brushing down,' she had informed him, with some amusement.

'You can never be too careful,' he had replied, retying the belt around her waist that had 'accidentally' come undone when he helped her up. In the darkness she could only make out the shape of his head and the glitter that was his eyes. 'Are you all right?'

'Yes. Is it just the house?'

'No, the whole street is out.'

A brief investigation at the bedroom windows had told them that the darkness extended for a few miles in all directions. He hadn't needed to tell her what his next action would be and while Ruth had dressed by the light of the torch she kept in her cupboard, Harry had phoned the Grid. Not so much a fear as a weary, unspoken assumption that some calamity had occurred.

There was a note almost of wonder in his voice when he had told her that the coincidence of two different faults occurring simultaneously had resulted in the current state of darkness across the entire sector.

The obvious answer was to drive across to Harry's house.

But there was something about the ordinariness of this crisis that appealed to them: the sort of mundane problem that would drive normal people wild with frustration seemed almost quaint to them.

Admittedly, Harry had requested that she stop singing "What Do the Simple Folk Do?" while they cooked dinner, but that was a minor point. Dinner itself was an experience and it soon became apparent that while Harry was a man who appreciated a well-cooked meal, he was also a man for whom the microwave oven answered most culinary dilemmas.

Ruth had rarely been so grateful for her gas stove: they would have a decent - hot - meal, if nothing else. She had retrieved a large flash-light that she kept under the stairs for just this sort of emergency and they had worked by its light - harsh white casting shadows that held a strangely greenish tinge.

They had dined by candlelight. Tea-lights floating in bowls of water, church candles standing on saucers, dining candles stuck into empty wine bottles. It would have been unbearably quiet except for the steady murmur of conversation - they never lacked things to talk about. And even when they did fall silent, there were always the unspoken things that flowed between them as clearly as though they had spoken aloud.

The electricity had gone before she'd had the chance to turn on the central heating so they had lit the fire. They had camped on the floor, built a small fortress out of cushions, eaten their food, drunk their wine and talked about their day and laughed over some execrable game-show he had ended up watching at 3 a.m. the night before when he'd been stuck on the Grid waiting for a call from Beijing.

The cats had stalked about the room with a mild air of condescension before curling up together in front of the fire.

'Best thing for them,' Harry remarked.

'They like you.'

'The scratches on my hands tell a different story.'

They had fallen to discussing what people had done in that distant era before television and DVDs and radio. When enforced proximity and few other distractions had meant they had to really talk to each other. Which explained the high number of familial murders, Harry had noted cynically.

Ruth had scowled at him until he had apologised and by way of placating her had agreed to a selection of board games that she had been unable - or unwilling - to part with since her childhood. The boxes were scuffed and in places held together with sticky-tape but had been lovingly preserved. Monopoly, Cluedo, Scrabble and-

'Tiddlywinks.'

She stared at him. 'Tiddlywinks? That's what you're choosing?'

Which was how two people who, society would say, should have known better at their ages came to be settled on the floor in front of the fire, concentrating on a number of round plastic disks and a small wooden cup. To be precise, Ruth was concentrating on them; Harry, leaning back against the sofa, was concentrating on her.

She chased her counter around the carpet, on and off the hearth-rug, lunging wildly as it jumped in every direction except the one in which she wished it to. The entire situation, she was sure, appealed to his sense of humour. She had once heard someone describe him as strait-laced and had wondered if they were sure they had met the right person.

She stabbed at the errant counter; it spun through the air, teetered on the edge for a moment and then fell into the pot. Ruth felt an unreasonable amount of satisfaction.

'Congratulations.'

She sat back on her heels and beamed at him. 'Well?'

He put down his wineglass with deliberation and set about working the knot out of his tie. The silk twisted between his fingers, tightening and loosening; and Ruth watched, mesemerised, as the dull sheen of the fabric caught the light. Harry glanced thoughtfully at her hands, smiled to himself, and continued winding it into a roll. Ruth felt a slight shiver run through her.

'Your move,' she said softly.

His eyes met hers. For a moment the only sounds were the crackle of fire and the faint hiss as a tea-light extinguished itself in water. In the dim light, his face half in shadow, it was difficult to tell what he was thinking - though she had a good idea.

'Indeed.'

Harry's counter flipped in a precise arc and landed neatly in the pot, first go.

'Beginner's luck.'

'Oh. Really.' Ruth narrowed her eyes at him and then shrugged slightly. Her hands moved to the tiny buttons of her blouse and with infinite care undid the first one. It was all deliberate: the painstaking slowness of her movements, the glances they both pretended she wasn't shooting him from under lowered lashes.

'Need a hand there?'

Her cheeks curved into that cat's smile of hers. 'I happen to like this blouse. And I'd prefer not to have to spend an hour sewing the buttons back on.'

Her full skirt pooled around her. Firelight had turned her skin to gold, brought out the deep chestnut in her hair. Like one of Klimt's women; Harry laughed at himself and his attempts to lend their positions any dignity. He wanted her, as simple as that. And she knew it. And she would torment him for hours if she could. And he was happy to let her. And little by little the dark purple parted to reveal the delicate skin beneath. Ruth pulled the blouse back from her shoulders, let it slide softly down her arms and then shrugged it clear. She shivered as the cool air touched her exposed skin. But there was heat as well. Heat from the fire and from his eyes following the play of light and shadow across her body.

He refilled her wineglass and watched the movement of muscle under smooth skin as she stretched across in an effort to coax her counter to do what she wanted.

Ruth watched with its trajectory with interest until it landed on Fidget's head. The cat woke with a start, glared at both of them and then marched out of the room, tail held high in the air. Its companion, deprived of its sleeping partner, followed a few moments later, stopping by Harry - whom it patently adored - only long enough to butt its head against his leg.

A satisfactory clink of plastic against wood. Her lips curved into an expectant smile as she watched him.

'Harry, cufflinks do not count as clothing!'

'I bought them in a clothing store,' he replied reasonably.

'They-they are accessories.'

A flash of silver as they caught the light.

'But they are something you wear, yes?'

She breathed out heavily, muttered something about male logic and drank more of her wine. There was a definite smirk, she thought, as he placed them on the coffee table next to his tie.

His second counter joined its mate in the pot.

Ruth stared at it for a moment. 'Why do I get the feeling that I've been set up?'

'Ruth! Would I do that?'

'Yes.'

He leaned back against one elbow. 'Fair's fair, Ruth.'

She held his gaze and tried not to laugh. 'I can take this out on you in other ways,' she stated, getting to her feet.

'I'm sure you can,' he murmured.

She drew the zip down with the same deliberation she had dealt with her buttons and again watched him surreptitiously. His breathing had quickened slightly and she smiled. Ruth eased the fabric down her thighs, following the curves with her hands all the way down to her feet. Straightening up, she stepped out of the velvet pool and looked down at him. She should feel exposed, vulnerable, but she didn't. Maybe because he looked at her like that.

He could have compared her to paintings or sculptures but the only words in his head were what she was: beautiful, intoxicating, his. She was the sort of woman for whom a man would do anything; and he would do anything, if he had to. Hers was a face that begged for love and he needed her.

'You were right.'

'About what?'

He reached for her, pulling her down and she stumbled into his arms, all warm skin, scraps of lace and soft hair. 'I think we should play something else.'

She shifted position over him; his hands at her hips pulled her harder against him and her breath was shaky as she took possession of his mouth. One of his braces was snapped playfully against his chest; he laughed and then said solemnly into her ear, 'Ouch.'

She started to slide them across his shoulders and down his arms. 'Never mind, I'll kiss it better.'

Her fingers moved busily down his shirtfront. That wonderful feeling of skin against skin, close enough that she could feel his heart beating as fast as hers.

Holding her to him, Harry swept the remnants of their game away with one arm, bright dots of colour scattering everywhere, before lowering her down onto the rug, cushioning her head with his hand.

Her smile was serene. 'I won.'

'You were losing.'

'But you conceded the game.'

'Let's call it a draw, shall we?'

'To the victors the spoils,' she murmured.

Hands and mouths in exploration of places they already knew so well but still always seemed like the first time. Her breath catching in her throat when he touched her _there_; his murmured endearments suddenly broken off when she lowered her head to kiss him. That heady feeling when he finally covered her body entirely with his and she arched upwards to meet him. The change in mood, there in both in their eyes.

A breathy moan as she felt him press against her, she wrapped herself around him. The pleasure of desire had turned to an ache of need

'No more games?' Almost a request.

'No.' He entered her slowly, completely, watched while her eyes fluttered closed and then opened again to meet his. 'No more games.'


	32. F is for Freezing

Chapter deleted


	33. G is for Goddess

**I have spent almost three months trying to write this and it still hasn't worked out right. It's the shortest fiction I have ever done and I'm very ashamed of it and how poor it is but if I didn't get it done I would go mad... madder lol**

**No beta so any mistakes are my own sorry.**

**Much love to anyone who reviews**

**Love and (pure) joy xxx**

* * *

Intensity, so breathtaking that it makes my head light, flashes in her eyes as I capture them with mine, the desire to see them come alive with pleasure as I make love to her too strong to fight. Nudging her core teasingly I gasp as her nails scrap down my length, her eyes never leaving mine but the oceanic blue that is their norm deepening with desperation to feel all of me that I have never been able to resist, I need to bring her pleasure as much as she needs to feel it right now. Hearing her whisper my name, her tone muted by the desire that I've been watching swim in her eyes, all my control is gone as I finally sink into her, her name falling from my lips just as mine did from hers as the wonder that is her consumes me all over again. Every time we do this I think it will be different, I think that the fact we're free now to do it whenever we want will temper the all consuming need I feel for her and that the fact I have watched every tiny reaction in her eyes as we make love so often will mean they become less captivating, it's never happened though. Right now there is nothing and nowhere in the world but the island that is the depth of her eyes and the crystal blue waters that seem to lap around them in time with every movement I make. Each whispered instruction, every passionate uttering of my name sends electricity coursing through me as I try to stay with her not wanting to give up to the desire to close my eyes and loose the connection with hers and I see her read my mind as she takes control, flipping us so she towers over me the responsibility for our joining now completely hers. Years of making love to her in my imagination, years of sitting across from her loosing myself in her eyes and imagining what it would be like to see them filled with love for me are nothing compared to what it's really like, especially right now, as I feel her tighten around me and those eyes finally relinquish their hold on mine as she gives up. Even though they're closed to me now I know that when they open again they'll radiate with love and the desire to please me as I have her and that thought alone is all it takes to push me over the edge as I can't help but cry her name, hearing it echo around the room as I explode inside her and she falls into my arms. Smothering her hair in barely connected kisses my declaration of love falls from my lips in a whisper as she lifts her head, her eyes meeting mine again as she smiles and there's no need for her to tell me she loves me too I can see it, as I always can, in the soul searing, heart stopping wonder that is her eyes. She is my Goddess. 


	34. H is for Hands

H is for Hands (By Laurie)  


'How is the conference going?'

A profane remark was the response.

Ruth winced. 'That good?'

'It's some new torture they've devised, I'm sure of it. Some Whitehall think-tank was convened to come up with the perfect method of driving me insane.'

She cradled the receiver in the curve of her shoulder and leaned back against the pillows. 'It could have been worse, Harry; it could have been led by the Americans.'

'Thank you for that, Ruth.'

She laughed. It was ridiculous how much she missed him. Only two days and he would be back tomorrow afternoon. Juliet had taken advantage of his absence to instigate a paperwork drive and there was mutiny in the air.

That was not why she missed him; that was simply an added frustration.

And somewhere was the unspoken fear that once he was away from the Grid for any length of time something would happen and he would never come back.

'What are you doing now?'

A pause.

'Touching you.'

Ruth had closed her eyes, listening to the warmth of his voice – they snapped open. This was ... a development. She moistened her lips. 'Where?'

'The back of your neck, just below your hairline, down to your shoulder – so softly you can barely feel it.'

Her fingers moved unconsciously to the spot.

'Stop it.'

'Stop what?'

'Whatever it is you're doing. No hands, Ruth.'

She made a face at the phone. 'Spoilsport.' She tucked one hand firmly under the pillow behind her head. 'And? Then what?'

And so he told her. How he would follow the lines of her throat, how her skin would feel warm and soft to him. How he would kiss the area above her breasts and then undo her buttons-

Her eyes opened again suspiciously. 'How do you know there are any buttons?' She wouldn't put it past him to have her room bugged.

Harry laughed softly. 'Humour me.'

Ruth nestled into the pillows, kicking herself free of the thin sheet until she felt the currents of warm air against her skin.

Each button would be undone until she was exposed to him. His fingers would trace the contours of her breasts, stroking her, teasing her until he took them in his mouth.

His voice was like a caress. And his words recalled memories of nights and afternoons and mornings when they had done all of this and more. When his hands on her would make her tremble and ache and scream.

She could almost feel them – strong, a few calluses that would catch against her skin, skilful. He knew where to touch her and when and for how long.

Ruth dug her nails into the pillow, her body moving restlessly. She could almost feel them. Every touch he described. The curve of her waist, across the taut skin of her stomach, down to her hip. Slowly, a trail of fire drawn tortuously across her skin until every part of her needed him. His hands on the soft flesh of her inner thighs, light at first, then harder, then higher, seeking her...

She bit down on her lip to muffle her sharp breathing. It was too much, and it wasn't enough. Blood roared in her ears and through it all his voice – measured and mellow and with its edge of danger – urged her on.

She could almost feel him.

Feel him pulling her against him, feel his lips on hers, feel the rhythm of his fingers inside her.

She needed touch. What did he expect her to do, getting her into this state? One hand moved to the top button of the shirt.

'That is called cheating, Ruth.'

A few seconds before she realised the voice wasn't coming from the phone. She looked around dazedly.

'Harry!'

He was leaning in the doorway, a faint smile, a world of wickedness in his eyes.

'What are you- I thought...'

'No earthly purpose was served by my staying in the midst of those bloody people.'

'So you thought you'd try a little breaking and entering?' Her voice was husky.

'Hardly breaking, Ruth. I do have a key.' He moved towards her. 'Isn't that my shirt?'

She had needed something of his while he was away from her. Somehow that admission seemed more embarrassing than anything else. Ruth tossed the hair out of her eyes defiantly. 'It still smells of your aftershave.'

One hand either side of her, he knelt between her thighs. His lips against the curve of her neck. 'And now your perfume,' he murmured.

Ruth put her arms around him, playing with his hair. He kissed her deeply and her body arched upwards to his. A moment's relief as his hips pressed against hers.

'Miss me?'

Her hands gripped his shoulders. 'You know I did.' She drew one foot along the length of his leg. He kissed her again and then her cheek, along her jaw, just below her ear and his voice was low.

'What do you want, Ruth?'

She tilted her head back. 'Are you trying to make me beg?'

His teeth pressed against the pulse in her neck. 'I would never do that to you, my darling.'

He still hovered over her, one hand either side of her body, and then lowered his head, his mouth finding her breast through the thin cotton. He bit down lightly, playing with her until the fabric was wet and silken. Languid kisses between her breasts. Her head fell back as she tried to drag air into her lungs, soft noises catching in her throat as her nipple hardened under his tongue.

She waited for the moment when his hand would stroke her thigh, when his fingers would slip inside her, waited for that moment of release that didn't come.

He moved down her body.

Ruth hadn't bothered will all the buttons of the shirt and he found every gap, her skin burning after each brush of his lips. Lower still, she let out a shaky laugh when the soft curls of his hair touched her flesh, gasped when his tongue traced a lazy pattern on the inside of her thigh.

And her need for him raced through her like fire.

'Harry...' His name came out as a breathy moan. She would not beg him. She wouldn't.

'Yes, Ruth?' His voice was soft and perfectly controlled.

'Aren't you going to touch me?'

She could feel him smile, his breath warm against the juncture of her thighs. 'Of course I am. But as I said, Ruth – no hands.'


	35. I is for Intimacy

I is for Intimacy

The rasp of the brush through her hair has become a familiar sound. Slow strokes as she stares into the mirror, not really seeming to see her reflection. A slight smile.

He knows that she knows he's watching her.

It is allowed. It is what lovers do when they have become more than just lovers.

The simplicity of these moments has come to mean as much as the bigger ones. To see her do the things she would do when he isn't there, accept him into her world with no pretence.

It isn't something that is easy for either them. It doesn't come naturally, but they have managed it. They say that lovers have no secrets but he knows that isn't true. You don't have to know everything about someone to know them. And he knows her. There have been other women, naturally. Women he may not have loved but certainly cared for. And then her. Wholly unexpectedly. Under his skin. Somewhere in his mind, always.

Her smile is redirected, focused, her reflection's eyes finding his.

He stands behind her, running one hand down her hair before twining his fingers through it at the base of her neck. And her head tilts back to meet his.

§

It was a well-tended grave. Ruth had recovered long ago from the notion that there was any romance in the sadness of a graveyard. Possibly because she had spent to much time in them mourning people she had known to speculate on the lives of people she hadn't. There were sprigs of rosemary mingled with the flowers he had brought. For remembrance. Did anyone else remember this spot? Ruth wondered. Probably not. Not anymore.

They stood side by side, Harry with his hands buried in his pockets. Thoughtful.

'What was he like?'

'A bit of a rogue, really.'

She smiled. 'No wonder you were friends.'

His eyes were still fixed on the headstone but his fingers curled briefly around hers. 'You would have liked him.'

She smiled. 'But would he have liked me?'

Ruth knew there would be warmth in his eyes, meant for her though still fixed on the gravestone. 'He would have adored you. And he would have wanted you to be a little in love with him. Which you would have been.'

'Not me. I don't believe in sharing.'

His arm around her this time, drawing her closer. 'Yes, you would. Everyone was.'

William Crombie. 1953-1978.

'You still miss him.'

Harry took a deep breath and let it out. 'Yes. Sometimes. I loved Bill like a brother. More than a brother, really. Not that I'm not fond of Ben, but-'

'Bill was part of your world,' she said quietly.

'Our world. Yes.'

It was one of the stories that did the rounds of the service. Rumours and half-truths. Most of the time Harry himself was willing to let them say anything they liked. Tessa Phillips had got hold of some of it - only to find that she had known less than she thought she had. Attempted blackmail from a position of ignorance is never a wise idea.

Ruth would have been lying if she had said she wasn't curious. Of all the horrors he had seen and survived, this was the one that still brought the nightmares. She could have read the file. Even though it was restricted access. That had never been a deterrent or a problem.

They had danced around that one for a while. Harry not quite wanting to ask her if she had and Ruth not sure how much she should admit to having heard. In the end she had said, simply, 'I assumed that if you wanted me to know, you would tell me.'

'And if I didn't?'

'Then I would never know.'

Trust. Such a precious thing. The exposure of oneself to another.

He had told her. All of it. The helplessness, the guilt, culminating in that desperate, fruitless two week search. If he had tried to save Bill he would have signed his own death-warrant, along with those of half-a-dozen other people in that pub that night. And she reminded him of that. He said nothing.

'It wasn't your fault, Harry.'

'People have been telling me that for thirty years.'

They stood together. Rosemary and purple heather bright against the stone.

The emotional side was something that Harry understood better than most. And the necessity of not letting it cloud your judgement. But that was always harder when your emotions ran so deep. Another thing that Harry understood better than most.

Ruth rested her head against his shoulder. A public space that held this most personal of things. He held her to him, face buried in the softness of her hair.

§

His breathing is quiet and deep. She had got up to get some water and now, on her return, she watches him. Not just watching, watching _over_. The way she knows he does for her. A silent promise each has made, even if never spoken. Understanding that no longer needs words. Not that they ever needed that many, but this has reached a different level now.

It could be frightening. Perhaps should be. But isn't. Like falling, knowing that you will be caught.

He stirs. She's never known anyone able to move from deep sleep to wakefulness as quickly. His eyes open, seeking her in the dark.

'Ruth?'

'I needed to get some water.'

He finds her. He will always find her. Out of shadow and uncertainty he knows her face and reaches for her. 'Come here.'

Skin against skin, fingers running through his hair, arms twining around his neck. His hands trace the lines of her back, finding familiar patterns between her shoulder blades.

'Thank you.'

'For what?'

He raises a hand to sweep the dark coma of hair behind her ear. 'For coming with me today.'

He had never taken anyone there before. Another admission that needs no words.

'Thank you for taking me.'

A perfectionist is always the first to know that nothing can ever be perfect but this, she thinks, _this_ is perfect.

Tomorrow, when each sees a little bit of themselves in the other, memories of what has gone before will carry them through their day. But now there is this. Matched rhythm, slow and steady, breath catching and released.

She breaks around him sweetly; he fills her, floods her; she trembles in his arms.

He cradles her head in the curve of her shoulder. When he lowers her to the mattress they lie, barely touching, watching one another. One finger tip traces the lines of her face and she smiles.


	36. J is for?

This is a place-holder until the chapter is uploaded. In the meantime, please proceed to 'K'


	37. K is for Knickers

_This is a joint fic enterprise…..Jan offered to write it then decided to go on a round the world jaunt – hopefully to find Ruth! hugs Jan. So I said I would finish it for her. I hope I have done her original idea justice._

_This is dedicated to Katie pea who is wavering about posting one of her fics. If lots and lots of you review this – and include a note to her about how much you want to read her fics, then maybe we can all blackmail her into it….._

_Enjoy!_

_Thanks - betaqueen xx_

_Oh and thanks go to Andrea Corr – she would never have sung a song like this with her brother and sisters!_

**K is for Knickers**

**Tuesday**

His eyes almost popped out of his head as she walked into the room.

"What do you think of these?" She asked casually, tipping her heel so she had a better view in the mirror of the new red shoes she had bought that evening.

It wasn't the shoes, however that caught his attention. Well, he supposed they added to the over all effect, and they certainly helped to elongate her legs. They looked lovely on her, but then he would have guessed if he'd asked any man, he would have received a similar answer. What was it about the sight of women in heels?

No, it wasn't primarily the shoes which had caught his attention.

His eyes traveled up her legs, one bent, giving him just a glimpse of the other behind it. Her thighs were smooth and unblemished and her skin pale. Her bottom was pert and covered only by the lacy red material of her French knickers. He carried on moving his gaze up her body, but found himself drawn back down to her bottom. The heels made it so perfect. He had seen many bottoms before, after all, he wasn't an unattractive man, but hers was different.

She turned in the mirror to get a better view of herself and caught him looking in the reflection, face full of desire. "What are you staring at? " She questioned, swinging around and putting her hands on her hips.

He gulped, caught in a state of arousal which he should have been able to control, especially when she had only asked for an opinion on the shoes. But she looked like a 1940's pin up model, stood there in the French knickers, bra and high heels, all in the vibrant shade of red he loved on her so much. And it was driving him crazy.

"I'm just admiring your body?" he managed to say, waiting for a rebuke.

"Oh, OK – that's allowed," she replied enigmatically, before sweeping back out of the room and leaving him to wonder about her meaning.

**Friday**

Harry was shattered. Wednesday had been the day from hell and it had taken the rest of the week for him to feel vaguely human again, having finally placated Juliet. He sighed, he hadn't even managed to see Ruth since Tuesday other than fleetingly at work, and she had left a few hours ago, leaving only a garbled message, which Jo had dutifully delivered. Maybe he would change, and pour himself a drink, and then ring her.

A knock at the door startled him, turning – he had only managed to get two feet down the hallway - he pulled it open to find Ruth stood on the doorstep, full length coat done up to her chin, and clutching a CD in her hand.

"Hi Harry" She said moving past him into the hall and thrusting the CD into his hand. "Go and pour yourself a drink, sit down and put this on. I'll be back in a minute," and with that she disappeared into the downstairs toilet leaving Harry lost for words, as he always seemed to be around her.

Shrugging out of his own coat, he wandered through to the kitchen and was soon ensconced in his favourite wing back chair, waiting for the first lines of whatever recording Ruth had seen fit to bring him. Work, book reading, music or rhyme he had no idea but was always prepared to listen to it, if Ruth deemed it to be important.

_Hello boys I know you're watching me,  
I think that I like it.  
I'm so tired that I can barely see,  
Come find where my light is. _

Harry frowned, turning over the blank CD case in his hand, as the slightly husky and suggestive sounding voice of the female singer sang out clearly from his music system in the corner of the room.

Harry opened his mouth to call to Ruth and ask her what this was about, closed it promptly when he heard the door open and saw her shadow emerging around the corner, then dropped it open again as she slowly walked into the room.

__  
_See me walking down the avenue,  
I look like a waitress.  
But I don't serve anything you've ever tasted,  
on a plate. _

Ruth looked, well, he didn't want to acknowledge what she looked like, but she looked sublime nonetheless. Hot darts of heat felt like they were being fired at his groin, and he shifted uncomfortably to ease the pressure. It had been a long time, since something or someone had had that immediate an impact on his libido. But WOW!

_Now I don't need smooth seduction.  
I don't need a date.  
I would take your complication,  
I'll make you okay. _

Harry took a reflexive gulp of the peaty smelling liquid he had, the glass still held in mid air, and then wished he hadn't as Ruth spun on the tip toes of the red high heels she had bought earlier in the week, giving him another view of her figure. He choked on the fiery drink, spluttering the whisky down his shirt.

"Oh dear me Harry, We might have to get you out of those damp clothes in a minute," Ruth spoke softly, twirling again for full effect.

_What do you really want?  
What do you dream about? _

Ruth bent forward, giving him the most incredible view of her cleavage, a fingers breadth out of his reach, and licking her lips teasingly, invitingly. Then she straightened, pivoting to walk away from him.

_Are you ready for?  
Why do you do that? _

Harry had seen the world, had been to a few, less than salubrious places in his time, and had enjoyed them, he could admit that. But nothing, nothing had affected him even remotely as much as the woman of his dreams, the love of his life was now doing as she strutted her stuff and sold her wares in the personal display she was putting on for him.

Harry shifted again, trying to create space in his chino's, though, when Ruth turned again and directed her gaze straight at his manhood, he knew it was a hopeless task._  
_

The music trailed away, leaving Ruth in the middle of his living room, a blush creeping up her features as she became aware of herself again. Harry, noticing her confidence slipping away, reached over and calmly pressed the play button again, raising his eyebrow at her.

"I don't think I caught the true meaning of the song, you'd better start at the beginning again Ruth," he growled, suggestively.


	38. L is for Leather

_This fic was written for x's birthday (don't worry, I did send it to her in June. I haven't made her wait four months for it). Happy Birthday again though sweetie - like the Queen, you get two this year. :)_

_Thanks to Laurie for the beta, and to her and Lynn, and Katie and Em, for the encouragement I needed to write it. _

**_L is for Leather_**

Row upon row of leather handbags line the darkened shelves.

Different shapes, colours, sizes and designs.

The visual impression and the smell assault her senses as she turns the key in the lock and pushes open the door.

Why is she here? Working in a small shop up a side alley, set back from the busy streets of Malcesine. The thought passes through her head every morning and she shrugs as echoes of words, fragments of conversation, and jumbled images chase the thought through her mind.

Life in a different direction; the phrase runs on almost constant replay. If she closes her eyes she thinks she can read the words branded harshly into the delicately thin skin of her tired and heavy eyelids.

Her fingers graze the grain of a bag as she passes and she pauses to smooth the soft leather and its glowing, golden tan, as the first rays of sun fall on the shop. She picks the bag up and raises it to her face, inhaling the sweet, earthy aroma, her cheeks brushing its smooth surface back and forth.

Looking around the shop she takes pride in the neat shelves and hooks. The bags jostle for attention, standing in their regimented rows, with not a gap in the ranks and looking pristine.

She asks herself again, why is she here? She may not be fully ready to confront that question but why does she stay? - that is easier to reflect upon.

The bags remind her of her beloved books. The same musky scent that she can bury her head in. The sensation of the leather bindings against her fingertips when she touches them. Their demand to be noticed as they sit together on the shelves. And both have stories to tell; the book hiding it between its pages; the leather bags waiting – their story and journey yet to start.

Sighing deeply she hangs her light spring coat up on its stand, and watches it hanging there, looking as lonely on its own as she feels. The pain runs deep, no longer a fresh cut, but showing no sign of healing yet. She ought to get out more; meet new people. Maybe only then would she stop dreaming of a man she cannot have, in a place she cannot stay.

A passing shadow darkens the shop and the hairs at the back of her neck stand to attention even as she chastises herself for thinking that this might be him, this time.

With another sigh she turns back from where her coat hangs, heading for the light switches, trying to turn off the sensation she has of being watched. Then half way across the shop she lifts her head and comes to an abrupt standstill.

He stands in the doorway, heavyset and imposing, and she catches her breath.

A slightly creased cream shirt, unbuttoned at the neck, gives way to coffee coloured chinos and smooth brown suede shoes. Her eager eyes travel back up his body, noting the coat slung over his arm and new leather gloves casually held in his hand. Those gloves had sat in the window of the shop next door for weeks, and every day images had assailed her when she passed; images of a powerful man grasping her arm with those beautiful suede gloves and leading her into a cool shadowy room and touching her, caressing her; images of soft fibres travelling across her skin; of coarse seams brushing against hardened and oh so sensitive nipples; images of roughened fingers slipping between…..

Made brave by distance and time she had sent them to him, and now unbelievably, he's here, standing in front of her tapping the gloves against his fingers rhythmically and looking at her with such intensity.

A flush travels up her body and her stomach flip-flops alarmingly. Can he read her thoughts?

Without breaking his focus on her, he reaches his free hand behind him and slowly and deliberately locks the door, flipping the sign to _chiuso_. Her heart misses a beat. She dare not breathe for fear of breaking this spell, this vivid dream she is having and her eyes dart nervously over him, without quite allowing herself to make eye contact.

He takes a step forward, then another and another. A snail's pace but there is no mistaking his intention.

_Please don't wake up, please don't wake up,_ her inner voice begs.

His coat is discarded, thrown without consideration onto the swivel barstool she bought to perch upon during quiet moments.

Everything is in slow motion. The chair sits, facing into the heart of the room, enveloped by the coat and darkened by the shadow of the man unhurriedly advancing past it.

"Ruth." The name sounds roughened coming from the man's throat, coarse with longing and a lack of use, unfamiliar to both of them.

As he narrows the distance between them she finds herself stepping back reflexively, one foot and then the other in a graceful, almost dancing motion. His purposeful movement could be seen as threatening, such is his obvious conviction. But it is not fear which is snaking itself around her body, or pooling in her loins.

Anticipation tinged with nervousness and some denial, wages a war inside her, and she nibbles on her bottom lip unconsciously; sharp teeth grazing the succulent flesh, leaving it reddened and glistening, and then watching in stunned fascination as his gaze is drawn to the action.

With her next step, she is slightly surprised to find her backward movement blocked by the hip height shelf running across the back of the shop. Covered in bags from her attempts to sort last night's late night delivery, she sinks back into the softness; releasing more of their enchanting fragrance into the air, and raises her eyes up towards the face of the ever advancing man who has haunted her dreams for far too long.

"What, here?" she squeaks, her vocal chords twisting and torsioned and her mouth dry as she accepts the reality of the situation. The answer given to her is a twitch upwards of his mouth and an arched eyebrow, asking the question silently; daring her to put aside her inhibitions whilst his soulful eyes beneath draw her into their depths until she is lost; oblivious to anything but her pounding heart, the heat coursing through her veins and the man who now stands so closely in front of her.

Slowly and carefully, so as not to break the magical spell that has descended upon them, Harry leans in towards her and tenderly lifts a lock of her hair; rubbing it between thumb and forefinger before sweeping it back from her face and tucking it behind her ear. Then, taking a glove, he traces the shape of her face: across her smooth, slightly flushed forehead, trailing down past her ears and back around the shape of her jaw.

She is becoming exceedingly grateful for the bag strewn shelf, supporting her suddenly wobbly legs, as she glories in the sensation of the suede against her skin and watches Harry as he concentrates on his task. After so many years of brief glances, only when she was sure he was unaware of her presence, followed by an interminably long period of not seeing him at all, she allows herself the luxury of looking at his face, really looking at him. Her eyes wander over his high forehead, the delicate ears she dreams of dipping her tongue into, across to his plump, slightly parted lips neither smiling nor unsmiling but promising much. Drifting upwards, her eyes settle upon his; beautiful chocolaty brown orbs framed by baby soft eyelashes; feeling like a voyeur, feasting her gaze on him as he absorbs himself in tracing the glove around her ear and down her neck towards her pulse point.

Suddenly he pins her stare. "Ruth, close your eyes," he says in a throaty voice, just above a whisper in volume and emphasizing his request by drifting the fingers of a glove over one eyelid and then the other.

With her eyes closed, the sensations assaulting her body become colour filled. Pink, red and burgundy shades flower in her mind, with dancing silver stars and shimmering, swirling lines when the suede, which has been following the line of her white, open necked three quarter length shirt dips below the top button briefly, before continuing on its earlier course. She gives herself up to the shapes and patterns, sparkles and hues accompanying Harry's exquisite touch, tilting her head back to allow him to move up her throat, inviting and encouraging him. She thinks she can feel every single nerve ending in her lips tingling as he reaches them, drawing the fibres across her softness, and unconsciously she moistens them with the tip of her tongue, tasting the muskiness of the fabric and then suddenly opening her eyes widely in surprise to stare at Harry when he replaces the glove with two gently probing fingers.

"I want you Ruth," he growls, voice full of emotion, fingers dipping into, and back out of her mouth, and she can only groan her assent whilst he pulls her to him and crushes her lips to his, pinning her between his hard body and the soft bags behind her. He tastes of rich dark coffee and the thought flickers through her mind that her dreams must have reached a whole new level if she can even register his taste on her exploring tongue.

Placing her hands gently upon his chest, she firmly pushes, breaking the kiss; looking at him with passion filled eyes and stroking his shirt when she sees the momentary confusion flash across his face.

"Harry."

_Is she really going to dare to voice her fantasy?_

"Put them on," she finishes, voice stammering over the words.

A silence and stillness falls over the shop, broken only by harsh breaths as they both try to control their heaving chests, and for a heart stopping moment Ruth wishes she could take the words back; feels her cheeks burning and the onset of panic in her stomach. Then Harry moves, lifting his hand to slowly and deliberately slip one hand and then the other into the soft brown gloves, and another feeling swamps entirely the fear, starting a smoldering fire in her centre.

With the gloves on, he lowers his hands to her hips, brushing against hardened nipples beneath her shirt and bra on his way. Whether by accident or design it is unclear, but her reaction to the touch is the same, shooting burning arrows towards the fire that threatens to tip her over the edge and rage out of control.

"I hope you haven't any urgent plans for the foreseeable future Ruth, because now I have my chance, I don't plan on finishing this any time soon," Harry says in the same low, throaty voice as he lifts her up to sit atop the bags, her long full skirt rucking up around her hips, parting her knees with a gloved hand to move between her thighs and press his body to hers.

And when the roughened fingers of the leather gloves move purposefully from her knees, up the sensitive skin of her inner thigh to toy with the edge of her creamy lace underwear, and tease her into moaning and begging for more, Ruth cannot help but send urgent thanks to every king and deity she can think of, for giving her the chance to turn every one of her hopes and dreams and desires into unbelievable reality, in this little shop in the back streets of Malcesine.

_Soooooo, I hope you like it. Please review - it makes me happy. _


	39. M is for ?

**This is a holding chapter. Apologies for the wait.**


	40. N is for ?

**This is a holding chapter. Apologies for the wait.**


	41. O is for ?

**This is a holding chapter. Apologies for the wait.**


	42. P is for ?

**This is a holding chapter. Apologies for the wait.**


	43. Q is for ?

**This is a holding chapter. Apologies for the wait.**


	44. R is for ?

**This is a holding chapter. Apologies for the wait.**


	45. S is for ?

**This is a holding chapter. Apologies for the wait.**


	46. T is for ?

**This is a holding chapter. Apologies for the wait.**


	47. U is for ?

**This is a holding chapter. Apologies for the wait.**


	48. V is for ?

**This is a holding chapter. Apologies for the wait.**


	49. W is for Washing

By Jancis/Notemaker

I hope you enjoy it...as much as they do! xx

* * *

W is for……washing

Ruth hated Saturdays. Saturdays meant house work, even at Harry's she still did the house work on a Saturday morning. So far she had dusted, cleaned the bath room, stripped the bed (much to Harry's disapproval given that he was still lying in it when she whipped the covers off.), hovered the carpets and was now doing her most hated job. The washing. There was something about dirty laundry that she just didn't like. She didn't really mind her own but Harry's she had a bit of a problem with. She knew she shouldn't after all it was usually her that took it off him so what was so different about picking it up again in the morning. It was partly due to the fact it lead to her having to put the washing on, then dry it and the worst part, iron it.

She had spent half an hour sat on the kitchen floor separating the darks from the lights, the coloureds from the whites and separating underwear from items of clothing (something else that was her fault). Truth be told she quiet enjoyed that last part, she liked the feel of his silky boxers in her hands it reminded her of what they usually held. As she shoved the last few items into the barrel and closed the door she felt two hands plant themselves on her hips.

"Give me a minute to turn it on" She said batting one of his hands away. He obliged but as soon as the machine whirred into motion his hands were back on her hips. He spun her round, their eyes catching, his held a dark magic that only meant one thing. As soon as the thought crossed her mind she was pinned to the cool vibrating metal.

He slipped his arms further around her waist pulling her into him. His mouth finding its way to hers, pressing down on her with a bruising passion.

His hands skimmed over the material of the shirt she was wearing, one of his old ones that she liked to sleep him. He pushed it up over her head exposing her torso and letting the locks of hair fall back down sprawling out over the dreamy expanse of her shoulders. He bent down and lightly blew across her chest the strands of hair making their way over her shoulder leaving it free for him to devour. He ran his tongue down her neck kissing and sucking when she least expected it, finally resting just above her breast, sucking so hard she was sure he would leave a mark. Finally he resumed his place on her mouth pushing his tongue through her lips to explore further.She wondered how he managed to find her sexy, even when she was wearing a pair of oversized jogging bottoms and one of his old shirts. Her face free of makeup and her hair messed from the night before. She sighed in to one of his kisses, enjoying the feel of his tongue against hers and his hands skimming the base of her back as he pulled the shirt out of its confines. She ran her own hands over his naked torso, feeling his firm pectoral muscles under his smooth freckled skin. She let her hands slow as she felt the rise under her fingers flexing them trying to span his chest, she failed woefully. She moved her fingers across to where she knew he had a scar, running her finger across it then moving on to the next one. She let her hand rest on his chest once more and ran her other one down his stomach, delighted to feel his heart quicken as her hand lowered. She finally reached the waist band of his pyjama bottoms and let her hand dip under the material. Hearing him moan as she took hold of his already enlarged member she smiled and let her other hand drop to meet its partner. She pushed his trousers down letting them pool around his ankles and moved her hand to cup his balls, gently squeezing them while her other hand began to move up and down. She breaks from the kiss bringing her forehead to his gazing in to his eyes. He kisses her again before kissing his way back down her shoulder to her breast. Harry licks her hardened nipple then takes it in his mouth sucking on the creamy teat. He lets her out of his mouth and presses his head to her chest; his breath becomes shallow almost as if he's panting. He's too close right now.

"Stop" He manages to whisper and she obliges. Lifting his head back to hers she covers his mouth with hers expelling a breath into him, helping him to breath. His hands skim down her back from her hair pushing her sweat pants to the floor, she kicks them off and he lets his hand go to between her legs. Before he even gets to his destination he can feel her heat, the wetness calling to him. He rubs over her feeling rather than hearing her moan as he does. He lifts her up so she is sitting on the now, in motion washing machine, just the movements from that are enough to push her over the edge but she calms herself. Her legs spread just enough to accommodate him between them, her curls he can see now are damp with arousal, her folds swollen waiting for him to fill her.

"Harry, I need you, now Harry please" she pants and he moves forward. Letting the head of his penis skim her, teasing her. She moans again as he pushes into her slightly but not enough.

"Harry please" She moans arching her back and squeezing her thighs around him. Giving in he slides inside her and she moans a long guttural moan until he fills her completely. She wraps her legs around him, pulling him closer, further into her.

Rocking back and forth he holds her close, pulling her body into his each time his lips meeting another part of her body. He lips, her cheek, her neck as she throws her head back in a moment of ecstasy. Her fingernails dig into his flesh, the pain a welcome addition to the pleasure. Her breath is catching and he can feel her muscles, all she needs is a few more thrusts and she will be gone but instead he stops, holding himself fully inside her pushing her back down so she is pressed against the cold metal. The washing machines vibrations coursing through them. Its tipping her slowly, his penis vibrating within her, quickly skimming her clitoris over and over. It builds slowly insider her from the core of her being and he can see the panic on her face, the pleasure building. He begins to move again, this time letting the vibrations and his movements work in tandem. Slowly he rocks her, pinning her hands by her head so she can't struggle through the pleasure, he keeps her flush against the metal. Holding her in place he can move inside her, her breath is short and shallow, her back begins to arch and he thrusts hard into her once more coming as he does so and she's gone, falling into the abyss. As she regains her composure Harry pushes the hair from her face and leans to kiss her lips softly, the washing machine comes to a halt. "Perfect timing" He whispers.


End file.
